Art of War
by Violentkitsune
Summary: Valentine promised his daughter that if she worked for him for a year, he would leave her out of his black market empire in New York to fulfil her dreams as artist and curator. But things get tough when you're dealing with rival gangs, a possessive brother, a hot blonde officer-in-training, and maintaining your grades, bills and friendships. Disclaimer: do not own TMI or TID. Clace
1. Chapter 1

Clary waltzed down the footpaths lining the streets of New York city, wearing a smile of pure and listening to Pitbull and Ne-yo ringing out through her headphones. The petite woman with crimson red hair was ecstatic for multiple reasons. The first was that she'd received an overall grade of A++ on her Real Life assignment in her art class at NYU, and as a result won the immunity Chalice for the next crazy assignment that her professor like to give out in class. The second was that her mother Jocelyn and step-father Luke were coming in to visit her on the weekend, which was rare since she hadn't seen them for a few months now. And finally, Clary had snagged the pretty blue scarf that she'd had her eye on for the last few weeks from the secondhand store _Starry-Eyed_ .

For Clarissa Fray, life couldn't get any better.

The young art student turned around a corner and slung the glass door back, entering the lobby of her apartment building, with its plain black marble floor with scuff marks, and hunter green walls. The overall effect made the place feel claustrophobic, and the light bulbs above cast a yellow glow over the whole place. Clary ignored the elevator and bounded up the stairs two at a time and turned on the third floor. Her apartment was at the end of the hallway, the wooden door locked shut from the inside. The redhead walked up to it and thumped her fist against the wood three times.

"Simon, I know you're in there," she called out, taking off her headphones and placing them around her neck. "Hurry up and open, 'oh great and mighty one'."

The door clicked unlocked and swung open from the inside, revealing a tall, lanky male with his glasses sitting lopsided on his coffee-coloured hair. Caramel eyes were captured behind half-lidded eyelids, and his clothes were wrinkled from sleep. Clary tilted her head on the side to look up at her flat mate and long-life best friend Simon Lewis. "You're home early," he mumbled, shuffling away from the door.

"No, I'm on time," Clary said matter-of-factly. She walked into the room and watched her best friend flop onto the sofa. "Simon, how long have you been playing LoL for? I thought you had a lecture on today."

"Nope, that was yesterday." The brunette shuffled about on the couch until he was in a more comfortable position and placed the laptop from the coffee table onto his knees. He wore a maroon shirt that was baggy on his torso, and cut-off jeans that were frayed around the knees. The student rans his fingers through his hair, miraculously missing his glasses. "And for your information Clary I have not been playing League of legends all day. I've been working on an assignment for computer science, and trying study up on my physics."

Clary shrugged and ditched her bag on the counter. Their apartment was modest; faded gold walls and wooden floors; two sofas, and arm chair and bean bags settled around a coffee table. The t.v was in the corner beside the windows that lead out onto the fire escape. She and Simon had made a compromise on the three bedroom apartment; while Simon had dominion over the living room, Clary had full use of the third bedroom as an art studio for her work.

Clary tied her wild curls into a bun and stuck in a pair of oriental chopsticks to pin it up. She dug about in the fridge and pulled out a can of Sprite. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Nah, just the usual," Simon said casually, flicking his glasses back over his eyes. Clary had to admit that Simon was kinda cute, fitting nicely in the good boy category. He was the kind to treat you right, always insisting on doing everything for you, but still leaving room for you to do your own thing. "But I went downstairs to pick up the mail. There's an envelope for you sitting on your art desk. It's from your father."

Clary's good mood flew right out the window, her expression turning dark. "'Kay. I'll be in the studio," Clary replied. She rounded the corner and entered her art studio, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense similar to coming home. Her art studio was her entire world, the one place besides her apartment where she could release all the things that rattled about within her head. Shelves lined the walls and were laden with small paint pots, jars of multi-coloured dyes, glass cups filled with loose paintbrushes. On her desks were stacks of sketchbooks and packets of pastels, water-colours, pencils, and various tools of media. A canvas was stacked up on a easel, with a stool in front. The white surface had been sprayed with blue spray paint and had an assortment of purple, pink, and green dye splattered and dripping down the slope, giving it an underwater-like theme. The painting itself was incomplete, awaiting for Clary's fingers to return to the slope and resume her creation. Clary picked up the paint-splattered plaid button-up off the stool and swapped it for the grey crew-cut shirt she wore over a white tank top and skinny jeans. She looked about on the desk for the envelope and found it slipped between a page in one of her many prized sketchbooks.

The envelope was innocuous enough; a simple white envelope that one might find containing a post-card or birthday card. But Clary knew better.

The name of the front had the initials _C.F _for Clary's initials, but the back of it was sealed with red wax. A seal depicting an M with a cluster of stars about it was embedded in the thick substance. Clary narrowed her eyes and opened it up, already having an idea of the contents before she opened up the note it contained. In perfect calligraphy was a message written for her eyes only.

_Dealing with the Seelie Queen's Champion at 8. pm sharp. Meeting to take place at Mount Olympus, reservation for four. J will be picking you at 7.30 pm sharp. No one leaves until the deal is done._

_V_

_\- P.S: J will bring you some accesories. Need to look classy._

Clary rolled her eyes, staring hard at the initial scratched into the paper. V for her father Valentine.

Valentine Morgenstern.

Valentine Morgenstern was the underworld business mogul, and purveyor of rare and precious artefacts. He made private business deals with the rich and wealthy, stacking up assets upon assets until he had a good quarter of the New York politicians under his thumb. On top of that, he held dominion over the gambling underworld in all of New York, maintaining order amongst the chaos that ensued in the hours of darkness.

Her and Jonathan's childhood had been rocky since the split between their parents. After their divorce, Clary had spent all her time with her mother, while Jonathan left with Valentine, swapping over households like rolling dice between school breaks. The two had never really been close, but after this incident, they were nothing more that estranged siblings. That is until after her father intervened to pay for her high school education, even sending her off to a fancy institution to further her art skills. In exchange he'd taught all the trade secrets of his business, teaching her and her brother the skills for dealing, as well as how to look after one's self if things ever went south of civilised. Even though Clary didn't necessarily like playing messenger on behalf of her father, Valentine had promised to pay for university, and if she did well with business, even leave her out of the black market dealings for all her life. Art was Clary's life, and when Valentine dangled the bait in front of her in such a tantalizing manner, she was ready to do anything for such a prize.

Clary huffed. She'd always questioned her mother's reasons behind marrying such a man as Valentine. Her father was charming, to be fair, with looks that could make women of all ages swoon, but his manners always seemed to be on the edge of arrogance, his compliments laced with subtle mockery. And he was cruel. As a father he'd force them to endure harsh training regimes in their childhood, enrolling them in martial arts classes and treating them as soldiers. Whenever Jocelyn was around, things were a bit easier and Valentine was more loving, but he still found ways to use anything as a lesson.

Simon shuffled into her studio with a bag of prawn crackers, finding the young artist sketching away with a thick pencil. He pulled out the other stool that she had behind the door and sat down on it. "Another summoning from your dad?" he asked cautiously.

"My brother."

Simon crunched away on another prawn chip. "Do you guys have this deal to see each other once a month or something? 'Cos you always go whenever you get a letter from him or your dad."

"It's compulsory for us," Clary replied heatedly. "I just wish that it didn't have to happen so often. Its horrible enough as it is."

"Sounds like a crap relationship between you guys." Clary spun on her stool and face Simon, twirling the pencil between her fingers. "You know if I was you Clary, I'd just tell them to shove that letter where the sun should never, ever shine."

Clary giggled. "Tried that already - didn't work."

He tossed the bag of chips over to Clary, who caught expertly in one hand. "What do you guys even do? Go to fancy dinners and just sit and talk about the weather? Because I'm sure New York doesn't have much change in its patterns."

"Even better, we discuss car models and new upcoming fashion lines, and holdings from fancy condo's."

The duo laughed, passing the banter about Clary's family back and forth. Simon looked at Clary's smiling face, and adjusted his glasses on his face, his brown eyes softening. "There's the Clary I know and hate."

Clary straightened up and pointed a brush at his face. "Watch it," she threatened impishly. "I'll stab you with a brush when you're asleep."

Simon brushed her off. "As it you could. What time are you going out?"

"I'm out at seven-thirty. Jonathan's picking me up. I'll be in late."

Her room-mate shrugged and waltzed over to flick her in the shoulder. "Now remember kiddo, your bedtime is at ten. and i don't want you home any later-"

"Oh shove off Simon!" Clary laughed, pushing him away as he made smothering noises whilst walking out of the room.

* * *

As darkness fell over the city of New York, a sleek black Porsche 918 Spyder rolled up in front of the mundane building, looking out of place in the suburb like a diamond amongst dirt. Clary left the lobby of her building and slid into the elegant machine, barely glancing at the man in the driver seat. She fastened her seatbelt before meeting the dark obsidian black eyes of her brother Jonathan Morgenstern.

"Hello Clarissa," he rasped, facing the petite figure. "Missed me?"

"Jonathan, I'm not in the mood for your crap," Clary said.

"Now now Clarissa, is that anyway to talk to your elder? You should be rejoiced to see me again." The pale blonde figure shifted the gear stick and cast a glum look at the building, spotting her flatmate standing by his window. "Especially since you live with such dull company. I don't know how you put up with that boring friend of yours."

"He's far more tolerable than the scum that you and Valentine hang out with."

Jonathan's chest rumbled, a deep husky laugh escaping from his lips. "Company's not so bad once you get pass the smell." The car snarled and lurched forward into the traffic, pushing its way into the throng of the other vehicles. The older of the Morgenstern siblings was almost an exact replica of their father in his younger days, bearing almost no resemblance to their mother in terms of obvious characteristics; pale silver-blonde hair that shone in the night and styled in a slightly tousled manner, fair skin unmarred by any freckles, a tall stately figure that caused women to swoon at the sight of his build, rendered almost speechless by his eyes were dark as obsidian glass, slanting up in the corner and framed by thick pale blonde lashes. His beauty was such that Michaelangelo's David would pale in comparison, looking nothing more than some cheap garden ornament next to him. As an artist, Clary could see the definite allure in his appearance; there was something about him that tempted good girls to stray from their paths, falling under a spell from which no legendary kiss could ever free them from.

As Jonathan rounded the corner he reached down in the back and pulled out a black shoebox. "These should fit your dainty feet. Size seven, I believe?"

Clary pulled the box onto her lap, and lifted the lid off. Nestling in burgundy crepe paper were a pair of louboutin heels, the signature red soles shades light than Clary's own locks. Beside them was a steel bracelet embedded with etches of stars and daggers.

"I friggin hate wearing heels," Clary mumbled, struggling to put them on in the small confines of the vehicle.

"Well father wants you to look like a professional, not some virgin bimbo strolling up to her first alcoholic party."

The redhead glared at her brother beneath the light of the billboards in Times Square. Jonathan had eagerly followed their father after the split, siding with his sadistic parental skills than Jocelyn's own. The few times that he ever came back home for break, he was always polite in a cold way, never really opening himself up again. As the years went by, he adopted Valentine's cold and mercurial attitudes, his manipulative mind and wounding humour. He even bested their father at being the king of charades, wearing a facade and parading his lies like truths, and using the truth to cripple and wound in the most drastic ways. He'd become more eloquent in his speech, using a foray of words to cut people at the knees and ruin them in so many ways.

"Was that one of Valentine's metaphors?" Clary huffed as she pulled the leather around her heel. "Or is that his general impression of his one and only daughter.?"

Jonathan's eyes furrowed and he lost his harsh humour. "Despite the delightful images you have of us with horns and pitchforks, Dad doesn't think of you in that manner, okay? He cares for you Clary, just as much as I care for you."

Clary cringed on the side. It was moments like these, when Jonathan lost the conceited, arrogant manner and became a vulnerable individual, that made her feel the most helpless. Because deep down, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she hated him with a passion, she would always run back to them no matter what.

Jonathan pulled into the driveway outside of Mount Olympus, with all its marble grandeur, the statues of greek goddesses arranged outside the doors with vines curling about them. A valet dressed in red opened Clary's passenger door, and helped her outside, his eyes gazing up and down her figure. For tonight's occasion, she'd donned a simple modest storm blue shift dress, the hem grazing the tops of her knees. A belt cinched in the waistline, giving the illusion of curves where there were none. Her hair had been tamed and straightened to make her more sophisticated, falling across her chest and against her back, while the heels boosted up her height by another four inches. Her make-up was simple; black eye-liner that quirked up in a cat's eye and mascara to add volume to her lashes, making her emerald green eyes pop out like precious gems. She wore dark red lipstick that shimmered in the light.

Jonathan came up on her side and handed the keys to the valet for parking. "Keep her safe, 'kay buddy?' He joked. The valet nodded and ran over to the driver's side, leaving the pair alone. Jonathan was handsome in his tailored suit of navy blue, with the black silk shirt and silver tie to contrast. Her brother offered her his arm, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile. "Shall we, sweet sister of mine?"

Clary pursed her lips before putting a bright fake smile to match Jonathan's merciless smirk and linked her arms in with his. "By all means, big brother," she said in a bland tone. "Let's go make our beloved father proud."

* * *

**What'd you guys think so far? Any pearls of wisdom that the audience would like to share with this humble writer. I promise to bring in dear old angel boy Jace in soon. I had the storyline pop into my head the other night and its been stuck since.**

**Update: I have discontinued Save the Realm for now, but will resume sometime next month. I'll be working up on I'm Not Your Pet and ask you to be patient dear readers, while I get my writer magic flowing.**


	2. Chapter 2: Dealing with Faeries

**Holy crap, the amount of alerts I've received has blown my mind. I'm eternally grateful to all you guys, so much that I was able to write up another chapter after all the hype that you guys gave me. I'm still a bit apprehensive about this whole story, and i'm worried i'll disappoint you guys.**

**Please don't hesitate to give me advice and review each chapter. **

**\- _Violent Kitsune_**

* * *

Mount Olympus was a five-star quality restaurant, with thousands and thousands reviews placing the venue as one of the top ten places to dine. The waiters were dressed in standard black and white uniforms, while the maitre d's and higher staff members wore bold blue blazers to signify their change in status from the others.

The maitre'd was working at the front desk, fiddling away on her phone. The woman was in her late twenties and hadn't had any customers come in for the last thirty minutes. No one had come in tonight worth looking at, save for that juicy young man that she saw earlier. The blonde woman touched her hair which had been twisted into an elegant chignon, and pursed her full grecian lips. Oh how bored she was, resorting to flicking through the reservations book and seeing how many people shared the same mundane names.

"Excuse me," a young female voice spoke out. "Table for four."

The maitre'd looked up from the book and her eyes nearly bulged. The pair before were in their own rights beautiful; the male had such fine, sharp features that would make any greek swoon, while the the redhead had skin like porcelain, with rare emerald green eyes and a curved, petite body. The woman just had enough brains to begin speaking again, nearly tripping over her own words. "_K-kalispéra_," she greeted in greek. "N-names please."

"Morgenstern," the ivory blonde spoke out. He raised his lips up into a smile that caused sinful thoughts to run through the older woman's mind. "Here to dine with Mr. Knightingale."

The blonde girl nodded and lead them up the spiral staircase into the more private section of the restaurant, away from the humdrum of the restaurant below. While the decor of the main restaurant was gold, white, and quartz pink, the upper abodes were more focused in gold and heavy ochre, with fine black gossamer curtains drawn up around the upper floor and a few miniature statues placed strategically around the place.

At one of the tables were two figures, both dressed immaculately and awaiting the Morgenstern siblings. One of them was a woman, her hair a pale shade of blue-blonde hair, and skin as white as milk. Her eyes were fathomless pits of rare ice-blue, and her figure was clad in a mint sheath dress that hung off her slim frame, molded to her like a second skin. Clary thought the color of the dress saved the woman from melting into one color, since her hair almost blended in easily with her skin. Beside her was the man that the duo had come to see for business, his face betraying no emotion of any kind as he ran his finger around the rim of his glass. He had a far more expensive taste in fashion, donning one of Savile Row's more finer suits, leaving open the buttons on the collar of his white dress-shirt. He had black hair that was half-pulled back into a ponytail, with a few tendrils draped against his cheekbones. Leaf green cat eyes caught sight of the duo and he stood up as the group approached.

"Thank you Arya," he replied to the maitre 'd in a sombre tone. "That will be all."

The blonde woman nodded and backed away from the group to return to her mundane job. Meliorn, Champion of the Seelie Queen, looked at both Morgensterns as they took their place at the table. "The Morgenstern Siblings; Valentine's Son and Daughter here to grace me with their presence." His eyes settled on the girl, the barest of smirks ghosting his face. "Clarissa Morgenstern. My, how time flies."

Clary arched a fine eyebrow as the associate sat down. "I've changed no less than you have, Meliorn. Although you seem to show almost no change at all."

Meliorn grinned. "Just good genetics, I guess." He gestured to his escort. "This is Kaelie Whitewillow, my associate and one of the Queen's trusted co-workers."

A sly grin fell upon Sebastian's face as he reached over and grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles with his lips. "Delighted."

"The pleasure is all mine, Jonathan," she replied, her voice like crystal chimes rising in the wind. "And it's an honor to meet you as well, Clarissa. Your reputation as Valentine's Daughter precedes you in our boundaries."

Clary smiled. "Your compliment is much appreciated. Now," she looked across at each face, "-shall we order and then talk? Or did we pay simply for the furniture and the view?"

Everyone reached for their menu's, choosing according to their own taste buds. The members of the Court were vegans and opted for the succulent salads and fruit dishes; Jonathan was nothing short of a carnivore and ordered a full course meal, while Clary remained polite and opted for a souvlaki dish with caesar salad. Normally, she'd go all out at restaurants, but seeing as she was here on business, she had to keep up appearances.

"As you both know," Meliorn stated once the waiter was out of earshot, "my Queen has made contact with Valentine with regards to an item of interest. Kaelie, if you please."

Kaelie reached down for her bag beside her feet and pull out an elegant pale green envelope, the flap ripped off. "One of our members was murdered a few nights ago, and her murderer was charged with prison for life, which greatly satisfied our Queen. However, on that night, this member was delivering a artefact to the queen and as a result, the object was stolen."

Clary reached over and pulled out the photo inside, angling it for Jonathan to see. An elegant set of pan pipes were nestled in blue satin, obviously taken before it was lost. The pipes were all cut to specific sizes and engraved from obsidian glass, with elegant gold runes and designs etched into material. Beside it were several gold-tipped darts arranged in uniform, the same runes etched into the barrel.

"The pipes you see belonged to an aristocrat from England named Hyacinth in the late eighteen hundreds," Kaelie continued, tossing her waves over her shoulder. "The instrument was painstakingly carved and has pure twenty-four carat gold embellished on each individual pipe. It's called Titania's Instrument, inspired by the faerie queen in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Eve. While it serves as instrument of music, its primary function was as a dart-blower, and was used as an assassination tool. Hyacinth used this very weapon to kill a Baron named Aloysius Starkweather, as part of a contract. It's black market value is estimated to be over 1.5 million, and is quite valuable in the eyes of the Seelie Queen."

Jonathan tugged the photo out of Clary's hands. "Weapon disguised as something ordinary and mundane, very nice touch. I'm assuming that this will be a retrieval mission, yes?"

"Of course," Meliorn replied. "And I assure you that your services will be greatly rewarded."

"Is there any particular reason why you are hiring our services exactly?" Clary asked steely. "What's stopping you from using your own resources to track him down? Surely, the Seelie Court has a number of eyes around the city."

"It is not a question of what, but whom," Meliorn said curtly. "The culprit that murdered our ally was a man named Zeke - one of Raphael Santiago's henchmen, and we cannot investigate Raphael's crew nor reap revenge without causing suspicion on his end. We are already in the middle of tense detenté as reparation on his end for the murder but if we so much as make a move to on Zeke's holdings, then its an all out turf war."

"Basically we're substitutes on your behalf." Jonathan sipped some of the sauvignon blanc that the waiter had kindly poured into his glass, sharpening his eyes on the Champion. "Say that Valentine agrees to this; what do we receive in return? You know that his fees aren't exactly the same as everyone else's. What can you offer him that no one else can?"

"Are normal transactions not good enough for him?" Kaelie spluttered.

"Listen here, Miss Whitewillow," Clary interjected, honey-coating her words and wearing a sweet smile. "Seeing as this is your first time dealing with us, let me tell you a little something about my dear father Valentine. He already has money dear, enough to pave the entire state in gold. But money can easily change hands at a moments notice, disappearing from one account into another. Money is everywhere, and is easy to collect, but just as easy to steal. Why have something so fickle as that, when you could have something far more precious and stable, like land, or rare priceless paintings and items, or even weapons to help stabilise ones reign over their underlings?

Kaelie cringed at the woman's words. Despite the comforting smile she wore, her calm voice, Clarissa's body language conveyed an entirely different message. _You've yet to realize what kind of person you are dealing with. Tread carefully before you overstep your bounds._

Meliorn bit the inside of his cheeks and looked across at his companion, gently placing a hand on her thigh to silence whatever reply she was about to send back. "The Seelie Queen is under the impression that Valentine has also been searching for a rare item as well. I believe it is something called the Mortal Cup?"

Both Jonathan and Clary's minds sparked with interest. The deal was starting to get serious. This was one of the few things that their father coveted with a passion, often going to black market auctions in person to see whether or not such an item was present.

"Last month we apprehended a shipment of drugs that someone had ordered within our boundaries, in vain hopes of framing us for possession of drugs. Among other things, we found black market items that were heading to an auction in lower Manhattan, including the Mortal Cup." Meliorn cast his eyes about, his voice lowering in its volume. "Perhaps we can come to a trade of sorts; the Cup for your services."

Clary looked at her brother sternly, her mind mulling over the information at hand. Going up against Raphael would require stealth from both individuals, seeing as the man was in complete control of the Bronx, and had a number of nasty thugs under his command. One of Valentine's many sayings popped into Clary's mind. _Don't go for the minimum amount for an offer. If they have something you want, you ask for that and more. Acquisition leads to power, never forget that._

"The Mortal Cup," Clary started, turning her green gaze back onto Meliorn and Kaelie, "and of course a transaction of one million in an offshore account as of tomorrow. That'll serve as funding for our mission."

Meliorn's eyes hardened and his face expression hardened to stone. "Of course."

Jonathan smiled. "Excellent. I'm sure the Seelie Queen won't object to our bargain, seeing as we are acting in the best interests of our father. Now, I do believe it's time to eat."

* * *

"Now tell me that wasn't so bad Clarissa. You seemed especially emotive when you were putting Miss Whitewillow in her place.."

Clary's eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at her brother. "I don't want to hear it, Jonathan."

Jonathan smirked and ruffled his locks. Clary hated doing business on Valentine's behalf. It brought out her cold, duplicitous side that she'd inherited from Valentine, making her far less amiable than normal. Clary ripped off the heels she wore and tossed them in the back carelessly, ignoring the outbursts from Jonathan.

"If you're not going to be nice to me, then at least respect the car Clarissa! This baby has done nothing to you whatsoever."

"Oh but I'm sure you can pay for it, Valentine's Son," Clary mocked, sliding the bracelet off. The steel pooped off her wrist and she placed it in the glove-box compartment of the car. 'After all, dad always favored his elder son over his docile daughter."

Jonathan remained calm as he slowed the car to a stop a block away from her apartment. Clary always insisted on being dropped off before reaching the building to give herself time to relax and forget. She unclipped the belt buckle and threw the strap over the shoulder.

"Clary," Jonathan said quietly. Clary froze and looked back at her brother, who had his hands frozen on the driving wheel. "Do you hate me that much?"

Clary's eyes softened a fraction at the sight of her brother's vulnerable state. She huffed and got up out of the car, standing up to straighten out her body. She bent back down and looked in at Jonathan. "I don't totally hate you," she said, flicking a strand out of her eyes. "I just wish you didn't have too much of Valentine's primal side in you."

Jonathan's eyes flashed with something unrecognizable and he flashed Clary a smile. "That's all I needed to hear, sweet sister of mine." Clary slammed the door shut and strode away from the car, not once thinking about glancing back at him. When the engine's roar faded into the background, Clary relaxed and continued on.

The night was her ally, the moon and stars her guardians. New York was far more peaceful at night time. Clary felt her mood lift as she pranced down the street to her apartment. But her mind was still heavy with the things yet to come; dealing with mobsters, infiltrating gangs, breaking and entering. And she still had her bills to pay.

A sharp outburst rang out in the streets and Clary looked across the road, her breath hitched up in her chest. Four men were bearing down on a young man about Clary's age under a streetlamp, throwing punches left, right and center at his torso. The guy valiantly fought back with pure ferocity, growling as he threw an elbow into one of the bulkier guy's faces."Is that all you've got?" His voice rang out in the night. "My sister can hit harder than you!"

A man with a baseball bat whacked him in the ribs, an exhilarating chuckle escaping from the man's mouth. "You think you so hard, asshole? Why the heck aren't we any pain?" The man - whom Clary could see had blonde hair, ducked down and snapped his leg up in an axe kick, knocking his assailant to the ground.

"Hey! Idiots!" Clary cried out from the shadows, her voice ringing out with rage. "I've already rung the cops up and they'll be here any second now! So unless you want your rugged asses to rot in prison, then you better get your behinds out of my neighborhood!"

The men halted their and did a double-take on their victim before gapping it away, with the last guy sending the victim on his knees. "You're lucky this time, sucka. Better hope I don't find you again."

As the men ran away, Clary gingerly rushed across the road. The guy rocked back on his jean-clad knees, looking at the fading figures. "Yeah that's right you better run!" he choked out, coughing hard.

Clary knelt down by the man, taking in his condition; he wore a faded brown leather jacket paired with a blue Henley shirt and grey jeans. Physically, he was in great condition, with broad muscles straining beneath his jacket, and a halo of gold hair trailing around his cheeks. He seemed tall, probably about six foot once he stood up. "Where about is the pain?' Clary asked.

"Everywhere," the man wheezed. "When are the cops going to show up?"

Clary looked mournfully at the dude, whose face was hidden from her eyes. "I'm really sorry, but I lied - I was just trying to freak them out. I don't actually have my phone on me."

The body shuddered and Clary thought that he was having a seizure of sorts, until she realized that he was actually laughing. "You had them running scared shitless!" He rasped. "That's the best thing I've ever heard ever!"

Clary relaxed. The guy wasn't too far gone if he was still laughing. The man sat up and turned to face his rescuer. Clary gasped as he looked at the face before him.

"That ugly, huh?"

Clary shook her head. Despite the blood dribbling from a cut on his head, his face was unmarred. He had finge angles and a wonderfully strong jawline that begged to have her fingers run over them. Almond-shaped eyes stared back, a pair of golden orbs staring back beneath full lashes that brushed his cheeks. And his lips, they were so damn kissable. The artist itched to paint him, to immortalize the angelic beauty before her.

"You're fine." _More than fine_, Clary thought. "Let's get you up." She pulled him up by the arm with some minor difficulty and slung his arm over her shoulder. 'Let's go to my place and clean you up."

"Thanks," he mumbled, breathing into her neck.

"You have a name?" _You beautiful specimen._

"It's Jace. Jace Herondale."


	3. Chapter 3: Helping Out the Brave

**Why hello again readers - here's another chapter out for you guys. I'm still in the process of trying to get my storyline sorted out. I have an idea of how its going, but its just about trying to connect the dots and get everything to flow. **

**Anyhoo, thanks for sticking with this story, and I hope it fits your standards for what you want so far. i promise it'll get alot more interesting. *Tee-hee. remember to keep giving me feedback you guys on whether it's crap or not.**

***Working in secret underground lab mixing chemicals to write out the most beautiful story in the right shade of lavender ink.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Helping out the Brave**

Jace cursed his luck. So many things had gone wrong today.

First thing was his alarm went off at the wrong time, which made him late to catch the subway, and in short made him late to today's field test at the Institute, thus adding a black mark to his file. The police commissioner, Jia Penhallow, was there to watch the whole of the day's examination to find candidates for positions in the honour squad, and she'd given Jace a look that clearly said _You're gone - don't even think I'm going to consider you, _as he walked into the room, disheveled, and in a ruffled uniform. So that was the second screw-up. And of course his final screw-up was trying to take on those four muggers who were harassing a older gentleman, knowing full well that his body wasn't up to par after the numerous training sessions and field practicals. It wasn't that he regretted saving the old guy from getting smashed.

It was the fact the guy had gapped it up the road faster than the Flash, and didn't bother to do the proper thing and ring up the cops.

_It's called good deeds people - you're suppose to return the favour!_ Jace thought wretchedly.

Now the blonde was being semi-carried up a flight of stairs by a small, petite redhead, who just happened to smell like his favourite combination of raspberry and strawberries. Not too strong, not weak - just enough to linger on the mind after it's gone. Jace struggled to keep his eyes open, since his vision was swimming after one of the thugs thrashed him hard on the head. Tonight's heroic deed was gonna cost him in the morning, and Jace had a pretty good idea of how much pain he was gonna be expecting in the morning.

"Come on Jace, we're almost at mine. Just stay awake for me."

Jace barked out another laugh, the sound clawing its way across his vocal cords. "Funny, I usually like to take girls out to dinner before going back to their place."

The body pressed against his side shook with a fit of giggles. "Well, well, I guess those guys didn't do too much damage to your brain if you can still make jokes."

"It's all part of my charm."

The pair stumbled down a hallway in the dark, stopping at an ugly olive green door. While the redhead stopped to pull out a key, Jace stared down at her feet, his eyes fumbling in confusion. "You don't have shoes."

The redhead unlocked the door and kicked it open with her foot, staring up at him with impressive green eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light from the lamp by the door. "Yeah. And?"

The blonde looked at her with bulging eyes. " It's around eleven at night. No New Yorker would go out at night without a pair of shoes on."

She shrugged and lead him into her apartment, flicking on the lights in the kitchen. "I ditched my heels in the car when I got dropped off. Couldn't stand walking about with those torture devices on."

Jace's respect for this girl had escalated. Not only had this girl trash talked her way into scaring a bunch of thugs out of her neighbourhood, she'd gone out of her way to help a complete stranger and bring him up to her apartment. All the while in barefeet.

The girl unslung his arm and sat him down on a wooden stool at the breakfast bar, clearing away old newspapers and textbooks for him to lean against. "Okay, just stay still, alright. Don't go anywhere."

"Wasn't planning to," Jace replied, wincing at the headache that raged through his head. The girl ruffled around in her fridge and returned with a bag of ice wrapped up in a towel.

"Put that on your head," she ordered. Jace complied and let out an exhilarated sigh as the pain began to lessen. His vision started to come right and he was able to get a better look at his saviour for the night.

There are two are two kinds of beauty that Jace classified people in. There was the obvious kind, where everyone knew someone was good-looking and that individual knew that as well. Jace was definitely in that category, since so many people would go out of their way to compliment him on his good looks.

And then there was the subtle, charming beauty that one would find in story books. The kind that this girl before him possessed. These kinds of of individuals went their whole lives trying to downplay their beauty, only succeeding in achieving what Jace called, the Desirable Forbidden Fruit Status. Her delicate hands threw her long fiery red hair into a lopsided side ponytail, while her soft burgundy lashes shadowed her brilliant emerald green eyes that darted all over Jace's face. Her features weren't quite as sharp as his sister Isabelle's, far more softer and more porcelain-like. The dress she wore swayed around her legs as she shifted herself onto a stool, pulling up in front of Jace with a glass and two tablets in her hand.

"It's Advil, in case you were wondering if I was gonna try to knock you out or something," she stated cautiously. Jace had been too occupied to look at her hands, merely swallowing the pills in a rush. "You're head still looks a bit bad so we're gonna have to clean that up."

"What?" Jace mumbled. He brought his hand up to his head and pulled away his fingers, staring with foolish fascination at the blood on his fingertips. "Wow. The bastards actually got me good."

"Hold still," the redhead ordered, placing her soft fingers on his chin. A slight tingle ran up and down his spine as he stared back at the helpful stranger. She brought a damp towel up to his cut and began dabbing at the blood, her eyes crinkled up in concentration. "Here's a riddle for you; what's a nice-looking guy like you doing in the streets at night, getting beaten to the death by four armed thugs?"

"For the record, I was actually giving them a head start just to make them feel better about themselves," Jace replied with a crooked smile. "And I'll tell you my story if you tell me your name, saviour of mine."

The redhead smiled and a quiet giggle escaped from her lips. "Is that your big pick-up line when you go out playing batman at night?"

Jace shrugged. "Only for special occasions."

The woman laughed and continued cleaning up the dried up blood along the side of his face. "Clary. Short for Clarissa."

"Clarissa." Jace immediately loved the way her name rolled off his tongue, sounding so elegant in its own right. "Lovely to meet you. Anyways, I promised to tell you a story of my unfortunate predicament. I was walking back from a friends place up around the corner, taking a lovely stroll through the grubby streets when I hear some voices threatening someone. I came along to investigate and see those thugs trying to beat up an elderly man just for spare change. Being the white knight that I am, I came along and threw a blow to the head at one of the guys, giving the victim ample time to run and call the police for assistance. Instead, he runs out around the corner and disappears from sight, leaving me to take his place in the beating. I would've had the upper hand over those guys if I hadn't had a fight earlier on today in my examination."

Clary whistled low and pulled back from Jace, looking at him with admiration in her eyes. "That's a pretty noble thing to do, Jace Herondale." She moved off her chair and walked over to the sink to rinse out the blood in the towel. Jace's eyes danced up the back of her figure, his mental self whistling at her slim legs. "In this day and age everyone has a single mind-set of them and only themselves. Very few have I seen go around helping others, let alone take the beating of bigger guys."

"Well I just hope that someone will return the favour one day," Jace said, pulling the ice off his head. He patted down the area where the ice pack had been moments ago, and winced as he felt a bump emerging from his scalp. "I can feel a lump on my head. Stranger, I want you to be totally straightforward and tell me how big it is."

Clary looked back at Jace, her eyes slightly widening at the rising bulb on his head. "It's not so bad," she said in a high-pitched voice. The golden-eyed man stared her down into submission and her pokerface fell drastically. "Okay, no it's huge. About the size of a golfball huge."

Any hope that Jace had of being able to go into the Institute with minimal injuries vanished into thin air, his shoulders drooping with misery. "This'll give the boys something to laugh about tomorrow at the Institute. No hope of it going back down anytime soon?"

Clary shook her head sorrowfully. She looked across at the clock that hung above the stove. _11:36._ She looked back over at Jace, her mind replaying a keyword over in her mind. "You work at the Institute? As in the NYPD Institute?"

Jace nodded, pressing the ice-pack back against his head. "Officer Herondale of the New York Institute at your service." He bowed dramatically and sat back up on his stool. "Been in service for two years now officially, but my whole foster family has pretty much been raised up around law enforcement. My parents use to work late nights at the Institute so they'd take me and my siblings along for visits at the precincts. Even managed to squeeze out a few trips down into the holding cells and laboratories." Jace snickered as he remembered a past encounter of locking him and his siblings behind bars on an accident. "I pretty much know the whole ins and outs of the government system, every nook and cranny of all the precincts, gun control - you name it, I know it."

Clary stared at Jace with a look that seemed to echo some foreign emotion that Jace couldn't place, but quickly recovered with a sassy smile. "You don't look like the kind of boy to sit idly in the office, playing about with action figures in a police station. I'm betting you were a problem child." Jace winked back, amazed that this girl summarised him up just like that and hitting it square on top. "If your actions have anything to say, being a protector is definitely in your blood." Clary returned her attention back to Jace's hammered body, studying his physique. 'Well, I've done the best I can for now. You just need to rest up and don't do too much heavy lifting."

"Thanks alot for your hospitality Clary." Jace made a motion for the door but was halted by a hand on his chest.

"However,' Clary continued, "You, my friend are in no position to be going out at night in this condition. It's too late to call a cab, and I highly doubt you'd be able to arouse awake anyone you know at this hour to come pick you up, let alone give them directions to my place." Clary walked off around the corner and rustled about in a closet before emerging with a blanket covered in pictures of Lilo and Stitch. "You can stay here for the night and grab any couch you want."

Once again, Jace's expectations of humanity shook. This fiery redhead was openly compassionate to him, a complete total stranger who'd just entered her orbit of reality tonight, completely out of the blue like a comet. She didn't give off an aura that she was being nice just because she wanted to get lucky with him, but rather that she was genuinely concerned for his welfare. _The world needs more people like her_, Jace mused. He reached out for the blanket and shuffled over to the couch and flopped down. The golden-blonde removed his jacket and kicked off his shoes, looking back over at Clary as she cleaned up his mess and put the First-Aid kit away. "Has anyone ever told you how kind you are? As well as the fact that you are such a trusting person?"

Clary smiled again. Jace's eyes fell on the curve of her lips as they quirked up. If she kept on doing that, then Jace couldn't promise that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her, especially if her lips kept beckoning like that. "On so many occasions.' She moved into the living room and began to make her way to a door. "Bathroom's over there in the corner. Fire escapes over by the window and also, if you hear anyone moving about in the night, it'll be my flatmate."

Jace shrugged and settled down onto the couch as the woman disappeared into her room, shutting the door softly behind her. The lights were out, eclipsing the room in total darkness Here he was, sleeping on a couch in some stranger's apartment, with nothing but his own heartbeat to listen to, and the one thought of how, just perhaps his luck hadn't quite given up on him after all.

* * *

Clary leaned against the door for support, cringing at the horrible twist of fate. She cursed Valentine and his despicable lifestyle for ruining any hopes she could've had with the gorgeous, blonde demigod that was sleeping on her couch, with her childhood blanket wrapped around him. The guy was making a promising start in her quest for future soul mate material; tall, tanned, and handsome - check. Noble and chivalrous, - check. Strong - check. Dreamy eyes that suck you deep into their soul and trap you in their wondrous world forever - a big fat, sparkly red check for him.

Clary sighed and moved away from the door. "No future with you, handsome." She then proceeded to strip out of her dress and hung it on a wooden hanger, trading it for a comfy baggy mens grey skater singlet, neon green league shorts, and black ankle socks. fatigue washed over as she began to make her way onto the bed, wrapping her headphones over her head and flicking off the switch connected to lights that decorated her headboard. She wanted to forget about today's endeavours, forget that she had illegal activities to accomplish on behalf of her father, forget that there was a beautiful man who was off limits to her. She closed her eyes, tightened her ponytail and surrendered herself to the haunting lyrics of Fall Out Boy.

_I don't know where you're going_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I dont know where I'm going_

_But I don't think I'm coming home and I said_

_I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead_

_This is the road to ruin_

_And we're starting at the end._


	4. Chapter 4: New Orders

**Chapter 4: New Orders**

"_Come on Jace!' Jace laughed aloud and chased after the red vixen, darting away in her shimmering dress of emerald silk and chiffon through a maze of pine trees. His saviour looked back over her shoulder, her magnificent hair curling down her bare back. Jace grinned maniacally and gave chase, causing her her to shriek and dart faster in her dress, her curls dancing in the wind. He eventually caught up to her and the pair were entangled as they fell down a winding hill, stopping short on the flat slope. jace laughed out, letting an ecstatic sigh escape from his lips. His saviour crawled over to him and straddled his hips, leaning down close to his face. Jace watched every curve of her lashes as they brushed against her cheek, and he slowly brought his hand up to stroke her jawlines._

"_Mr. Herondale,' she said coyly, the corner of her red painted lips quirking up. She reached up with one hand, brushing her fingertips along his cheekbones, reaching down behind his neck._

"_Clarissa," he rasped, running his fingers through her hair. Her body was pressed up against his own, and he could feel every movement she made._

"_Mr. Herondale." Her voice lost its playfulness and turned into one of sadness and sorrow. "I'm sorry, so sorry Mr. Herondale."_

_Jace golden eyes flicked up at hers in confusion. Something wet began to blossom on his chest. He looked down and watched in horror as red began to spread out like a flower of death, a silver gun pressed tightly into his chest. He gazed back up at Clarissa, her eyes devoid of any emotion whatsoever._

"_Goodbye Mr. Herondale."_

"- do you know he's not an international terrorist, gathering intel on us before killing us, stashing our bodies in a dumpster, and stealing our identities at the end of the day?"

Jace shuffled on his bed, groaning beneath the blanket. Whoever the hell was talking had a voice that scraped along his eardrums, whinging and moaning about something so menial and ridiculous. All he wanted was to have a few more minutes of peace and quiet, not listen to this dude's miserable squawk.

"Listen, all you have to do is just feed him, get him a taxi or ride or whatever, and make sure he gets out all right." Jace's eyes furrowed. That wasn't Isabelle's voice. The more his senses began to awaken, the more he remembered what had happened last night. "Besides, the guy's story checked out. He's who he says he is, and at no point whatsoever did I feel the desire to run him through with a knife for fear of my safety."

"Well that makes feel a whole lot safer," Jace interrupted, throwing the blanket off as he sat up on the couch. He yawned and rolled his shoulder muscles, wincing at the stiffness beneath his skin and looked back in the kitchen at his saviour from the night before. Clary was decked out in a baggy white t-shirt tucked into a black skater skirt, with a dark blue scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, thigh high socks, and purple converse. A white-washed denim jacket was folded up in the crook of her elbow, while her hair was piled up in a loose bun, curls escaping and tracing her face. "Morning Clary."

"Officer Herondale," she greeted back. She looked over at the other figure that stood in the kitchen, one whose image Jace's eyes had missed entirely because he'd mistaken him for furniture. The figure was the one with the annoying voice, sporting brown hair, brown eyes, a tall gangly body outfitted with boring brown chino's, a grey shirt and green cardigan. His glasses were lopsided on his face, and he was about as threatening as an ant. "Roomie, Jace Herondale. Jace, roomie Simon Lewis."

"Nice to meet you Roomie." Jace stood up off the couch and began to pat him down in his search for the Holy Trinity, only finding two of the three; his phone and his wallet. He began to hyperventilate until he remembered Isabelle had his keys and his car.

The Simon guy merely glanced at him, holding back no feelings of open distaste for him. He looked back at Clary and ran his fingers through his hair. "C'mon Clary-"

"No buts, Simon. Be nice and help him out or else I'll go demon mode and rip your head off."

The boy Simon cringed but quickly recovered and pushed the girl out by the shoulders. "Okay, okay. Now get out before I pull out my star and start chanting in jewish."

Clary looked back over her shoulders, pointing at Simon's eyes with her fingers. "Be nice." She looked past Simon and waved her fingers at Jace. "Stay safe, Herondale."

Jace watched her figure disappear behind the door. As soon as she was gone, the 'roomie' began to eye up Jace as if he were rotting fish sitting in the bottom of the fridge past its due date. "So."

Jace stood up and walked over to the breakfast bar that separated him from the boy. "So."

"Clary told me about what went down last night. Four muggers, eh?"

Jace shrugged nonchalantly. "It was an off-day for me." Simon nodded and pulled a bowl, sliding it across the bench to the blonde, followed by milk and a box of Nutri-grain. Jace bobbed his head in thanks and began to pour some down into the ceramic bowl, each piece making its own music. "Thanks for the food."

"Not a problem," glasses spoke out. He popped in some poptarts in the toaster and leaned back against the bench. "Need to call anyone? Make sure they don't start sending out S.W.A.T teams after you?"

Jace's phone chose that exact moment to ring. He fumbled about for it in his pocket and pulled it out, unlocking the screen to view the name of his caller. "Dammit." He slid it over and cautiously put it up to his ear. "Hey Isabelle-"

"_Jonathan fucking-Herondale, where the hell have you been?_" The voice on the other end was sharp, cutting off her words with precision and snarling through the phone. "_Do you have any idea how goddamn worried we were last night? You didn't come home, you didn't call, you didn't even tell us where the hell you were going? The hell is going on Jace?_"

"Izzy, Izzy - calm down woman," Jace huffed exasperatedly. The blonde began to regale the conversationalist with his tale of the night before, going into minor detail about the muggers and about his saviour. The woman on the other line calmed down but her breathing was still shallow as she heard the details.

"_Jace - you're a bloody idiot. You're stupid, reckless, impulsive, arrogant, big-headed, cocky -_"

"Don't forget devilishly charming there." Jace grinned at the sound of Isabelle's groans on the other end, digging into the cereal and chewing away loudly for her to hear.

"_Imbecile,_" she hissed. "_Tell me the address and I'll come get you._"

"Could you be so kind as to bring me another change of clothes." Jace looked up at Simon, putting the phone down on the bench. "Lewis, can you give me the details on where you guys live. My sister is gonna come pick me up."

* * *

A vicious pounding on the door heralded the arrival of Jace's most approachable foster sister, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood. The Lewis boy opened the door cautiously and backed away as fast as possible as a tall, lithe woman with midnight black hair that was pulled into a high ponytail stormed into the apartment, her dark mahogany eyes narrowed as she scowled at the blonde man. The woman was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt that hugged her fine frame, with tight black denim jeans and a pair of lethal Jeffrey Campbell Lita boots. Around her wrist was a cluster of gold bangles that jangled with each movement of her hands.

"Jace Herondale, I swear that if you ever pull a stunt like this again I will rip your organs out and dance on them."

"Morning to you too Izzy," Jace greeted, moving up off the couch where he'd taken residence after eating breakfast. He pointed to the stunned student standing by the door, who was paralyzed by the woman that traipsed in. "Simon Lewis, meet my foster sister Isabelle Lightwood."

Isabelle spun around on her heels, looking back on the stranger prepared with an expression of indifferent gratitude. Her eyes rose up and down the lanky male's figure, judging every aspect of him. "Charmed," she said with an air of nonchalance. Jace thought he saw something flicker in hers - something akin to interest and possible recognition, but he began to dismiss it straight away as Isabelle returned her gaze back towards him, throwing the duffel bag in her right hand at his face. He caught it deftly in his left and moved towards her. "You can get changed down at the Institute. I'm already running late as it is and so are you."

Jace moved with towards his sister and gave a brisk nod to Simon. "Tell Clary thanks for letting me stay here."

"Your welcome," Simon replied, waltzing back to the couch where his laptop was set up. "So… guess I'll be seeing you around?" he tested the words as if they were a foreign language.

Jace shrugged. "Who knows, Simon Lewis." Frankly, Jace didn't mind not seeing this guy again.

The geeky student scowled. "You don't have to keep saying Simon Lewis, you know."

"I know. It's just more entertaining watching your expressions." Jace couldn't help it when his cocky side rose to the surface. It was his way of breaking the ice between strangers. Isabelle huffed and pushed him out, sending a charismatic smile back towards Simon, along with a short and sweet 'goodbye' to the boy before shutting the door to his apartment.

"You're in so much trouble with Maryse," Isabelle hissed, leaping the stairs two at a time. "I swear she's gonna rip your head off when you rock up at the Institute. I wouldn't be surprised if she threw you into the gun cage for clean-up duty for the whole week."

"Aw come on Isabelle," Jace moaned. "I can't help it if I forgot to ring you up. Besides how old do you guys think I am, sixteen? I'm twenty-two for crying out loud and yet you guys keep putting tabs on me as if I'm going to go light the White house on fire."

"I wouldn't put it past you. After all, you're the guy that tried to head down into the Freezer and recreate murder scenes with the dead bodies as a Halloween prank." The pair left the building and strode over to Jace's beautiful black 1967 Camaro Ss, with its custom yellow paint stripes on the sides and on the hood. Isabelle dove down into the driver seat while Jace sat in the passenger, looking throughout his car for any marks of abuse and insensitive care. Isabelle rolled her eyes as she got the engine running. "Your car is fine, Jace."

The car growled as she sped off at a dangerous speed, coming close to driving over the speed limit. Even cops can still get fines for driving over the speed limit, unless they were in pursuit of an offending member of the public, or it was an emergency. While Jace rummaged around in his car for the badge, Isabelle gave him some news. "Commissioner Penhallow is gonna be down at the Institute today. She'll be selecting officers to undergo her second half of the trial before selecting members of the Honor squad. That and we have big news."

"Give me the full details," Jace asked seriously, his state of mind switching into critical thinking mode.

Isabelle swerved around the corner and yelled out some obscenities at a driver before return to the conversation. "We've just got word that this big mafia guy is back in the city, some guy that the Top Heads have been chasing after for a few years now. The guy's been mentioned in a number of cases involving murder and fraud, but we haven't been able to gather up any evidence against him to prove that he's been associated with these cases. An informant spoke out the other week to say that he was planning on hosting a black market auction within the next month, selling stolen artifacts and weaponry. However, the special thing about this is that all the mob bosses within New York will be in attendance, including high-class criminals like the Seelie Queen of Fae Court, Santiago from the Sanguine gangs, and so on. "

"So we infiltrate then we arrest all those scumbags that are trading in black market goods," Jace asked, stripping his shirt off to trade for the clean white one that Isabelle had packed for him. "That's a lot of birds we'll be killing with the one stone. Do we have any idea of who's gonna be running the show?

"Commissioner Penhallow will be revealing the full details today at the office."

Isabelle parked the car in the underground parking for the institute, and the duo waltzed out of the car into the building. While Isabelle went off to go sign them in with the roster, Jace turned down a corridor and went into the changing rooms, opening up his locker with his uniform hanging inside. The man dressed himself up in the royal blue uniform and pinned his badge neatly to his chest. He pulled out the combat boots and sat down on the bench seat just as his other foster sibling and partner for police duty rolled up towards him. Alexander Lightwood a.k.a. Alec, was a man with fine, handsome features. His body was tall and lean like a dancer's, with shaggy black hair swept to the side. Unlike his sister with her brown-black eyes, Alec's were far more of an electrifying blue that could hypnotize anyone into a stuttering state.

"You're late," he stated, leaning against the metal locker for support. while his body seemed to relay the idea that he was completely calm, his eyes were furious, sparking up with wrath.

"I already told Isabelle, and I'm gonna tell you the same thing; I'm not a child that needs babysitting. I can do my own stuff without having to explain to you guys first."

"And that I am completely fine with. It's the fact that you were stupid enough to go ahead and take on those men in such a frail state." Jace stood up and looked down at Alec. The man was but a two inches shorter than him, yet he still managed it intimidate most men that were taller than him with just a twitch of his eyes. "One day your devil-may-care attitude will destroy you, and i'll be entitling your eulogy with the words 'Told Him So'."

"Aw come on Alec," the brave blonde said, swinging an arm around the guy's shoulders. "Recklessness is what encourages us to take risks, even if they are somewhat extreme. Without recklessness, where would the world find that which is called courage?"

Alec unslung his arm and walked by him as they left the changing room, heading to the presentation hall on the upper floor. "That still doesn't permit you to go ahead and act with such reckless abandon. Just because you're one of the best we have in the force doesn't mean that your bloody indestructible."

"Geez, are all the Lightwoods going to lecture me on my behavior?" Jace asked tiredly. "Because if they are, then I just need to get my popcorn and 3d glasses ready-"

"Herondale. Lightwood."

A woman with striking Asian features and pixie-cut black hair marched towards them with a manila file in her hands. The black pantsuit she wore conveyed her business attitude, and spoke volumes about her expectation. Her almond eyes narrowed on the duo and she gestured to both of them. "Follow me."

Jace looked warily at Alec, who remained neutral in his expression. The woman moved past them and they followed closely behind, not uttering a single word as they passed the rest of their colleagues and such. A few spectating officers looked at Jace and smirked at the bump on his head as he passed by, snickering at the same time. They entered the commissioner's office, with its sleek minimalist style, and fine furniture.

"Sit," Jia ordered. The men took a seat in the simple desk chairs, their eyes never breaking contact with the Commissioner's. The older woman moved behind the desk and braced both arms against the tabletop, dropping the folder on the walnut wood. "Now, I see that both of you applied for position in my Honor squad. As you both know, I'm looking for officers who are dedicated and willing to go the extra mile to bring justice upon this city." She looked over at Alec and pursed her lips. "Mr Lightwood, your academics are quite high and you have a good track record on duty. I've seen you in action and you follow your orders to the letter, as quoted by one of your high-ranking captains. I'm pleased to say that you have the makings of becoming a fine officer."

Alec nodded. 'Thank you ma'am."

Jia then turned her eyes on Jace. "You on the other hand, Mr. Herondale, are something else entirely. I walk into this place and all I hear is how great the Jonathan Herondale is. Your physical examination is good, and you have the highest score listed down in the field examination for new entrants. I'm surprised by that, considering your age and lack of expertise in the force."

Jace could sense that she wasn't quite done yet and stayed silent as she read through the folder. She looked down at Jace and sat down in her office-chair, perching her chin on the top of her knuckles. She seemed to be appraising Jace, reading every crevice of his soul.

"I have asked a number of men and women serving under me and they all tell me the same thing.' She backed up and pulled out a sheet of paper from her drawer, running her eyes down the words written on it. "'_Officer Herondale is a quick learner, and excels at many things within the force. He has a sharp intellect and is quick to act on any commands given to him. He will not hesitate to take a bullet for his fellow comrades, and is completely loyal to the cause. However,"_ she flicked her eyes up momentarily to Jace before continuing, "_ Officer Herondale is also an impulsive individual, and acts upon his immediate thoughts before thinking through the best approach to a dangerous situation. He is somewhat rash and hasty, and may at times go against an order in his desire to complete a mission.'_" Jia folded the letter back up and stared back at Jace. "In my task-force, I don't want people that go against my wishes. I want people that can do what I ask without questioning my will, no matter how tough the call is. After hearing what these people have to say about you, do you still think that you deserve to be apart of my task-force?"

Jace stared at the woman in the eyes. His mind was racing at the number of traits that had been read out about him. He swallowed and spoke in a voice that was calm, but full of just as much authority as anyone else that ranked higher above him. 'With all due respect ma'am, " he began slowly, "I believe that as long as you have the individual's loyalty, then there's no need to worry about whether or not he will get things done the way you want it done. Besides-' a small, smug smirk tugged on his lips as he spoke the next few words daringly, "would you not rather a person that voices his own thoughts, instead of a mute soldier that whispers rumors behind their leader's backs?"

Jia narrowed her eyes and a small spark flared up behind her pupils. "Don't mistake foolishness for permission, officer." She sighed and open her folder up. "But yes. i would prefer someone who talks straight to my face than one who bullshits around."Jace grinned. He knew he'd won her over to his side. It was all apart of his amazing personality. "You both accelerate into the second half of my trials.'

Both men grinned and were about to stand and leave when she pointed at them. "Sit." They both sat back down and remained still, wondering what her next topic would be about. "As you both know, we are investigating a man we believe to be apart of the multiple crimes committed in New York. His crimes included money laundering, embezzlement, gang-related affiliation, and accessory to murder." She handed over the folder to the duo and stared them square in the eye. "Study up on our perpetrator, and report for duty, and report for duty tomorrow morning at seven a.m sharp."

"Yes Ma'am." Jia nodded at them and they both stood up, striding out of the office. The moment Alec shut the door, Jace pounced on him and rubbed the faster brother's hair. "We did it, Alec! We're in!"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up." Alec chastised. His tone was calm but his expression was one full of pride. "Just give us a look at the folder alright. What's the guy's name?"

Jace calmed himself down and flicked the the folder, pulling out a mugshot of a man standing by a white limo. The older gentleman had white hair, which was surprising since he didn't look too old, and his eyes shaded by a pair of aviators. He wore a crisp red suit-jacket with black shoes, black dress-pants, and a black silk button-up underneath. Two words were written underneath in bold italic text.

_Valentine Morgenstern._

* * *

**If you're going to ask me why I ended the chapter like so, let me tell you why - BECAUSE I CAANN! HAHAHA! I feel so evil at this hour *demonic smile. Anyhoo, hope that satisfied your needs for tonight. I have univeristy in the morning so it may be a while before I start up again. Thanks for sticking around people!**

**\- ViolentKitsune**


	5. Chapter 5: Family is Everything

**Chapter 5: Family is Everything**

Clary furrowed her eyes as she gazed upon her latest work of art. Jace Herondale had been stuck on her mind ever since she'd left the apartment, and the only thing left for her to do was sketch his likeness onto the thick sketchpad in order to relieve her of this not-quite yearning. She'd drawn him with his body draped in a regal velvet armchair, with his golden hair shining brightly atop his crown, and his eyes smouldering in a devious, cheeky manner. His muscled body was enveloped in a crisp suit of white, with a black silk shirt and white tie. And just because she could, she drew it so that he was holding an elegant rose by the stem within his teeth, his lips upturned in a provocative manner.

Clary swooned at the sight, her mind running rampant with the memory of him. She was so frustrated by this juxtaposed gift of a being that had presented itself before him.

"-ary. Clary! Look at me."

Clary shook herself out of her daydream and stared ahead at the man before her. At twenty-six years of age, Magnus Bane was one of New York's most infamous socialites in the whole state, well-known for his magnanimous parties held in the many nightclubs he owned. He was also one of the many volunteers for nude modelling for their Real Life art assignment and by far the class' favourite individual to look at. His exotic indonesian features mixed in with his dutch heritage, giving him fine tanned skin and slanted amber eyes, almost as enticing as that of a tiger. Dark hair escaped from beneath a gold turban and shaded his eyes, with a few traces of glitter from last nights party. His lithe, muscular body was wrapped up in a rich purple yukata, opened part way to give her a view of his impressive abdominal muscles.

Magnus sighed and looked at Clary expectantly. "Tell me."

Clary's eyebrows quirked up innocently. "I don't understand - to what are you referring to?"

Magnus rolled his eyes and pulled the student over to the sofa. The art department had a common room for the students usage as well as a chill-out zone for the models and staff. Most of the students had left for lunch break, leaving the pair with the company of impressionist paintings and whatnot, and secondhand furniture. The two sat down and Magnus held her emerald gaze. "As much as you like to think that your PokerFace is unreadable, your body language tells a whole different story."

Clary smirked at his remark and toyed with her bun. "Do you ever just wish that the life you were born into wasn't yours? That you were born into a family, with a regular Joe as your dad?"

Magnus's face turned thoughtful as he contemplated her words. "Bad father-daughter relationship?"

Clary stared despondently at her closed sketchbook. "You know that phrase 'The sins of the father are the sins of thy children'? Basically my life story right there. I can't do anything without thinking to myself just how will my birth father's status affect me. Whenever I meet someone new, the one thing I worry about is what'll happen if they found out the truth about him?"

The wealthy socialite gave Clary a knowing glance. "If I told you that my father was a drug dealer that is currently sitting in Iron Hall prison compound, would you look at me any differently?" Clary shook her head. "Why is that?" Magnus asked.

"I already know who you are to me. It won't have any sway on the opinion that I have of you."

"Ergo you've proven my point," Magnus answered. "When you find that Mr. Right of yours - and I know this is about a guy Clary, don't deny it - he will accept everything that comes with this firecracker."

Clary grinned and playfully shoved his shoulder. "You are very sly Magnus Bane."

Magnus shrugged and held out his hand. "Now give me the book girl, I want to see what your mystery man looks like."

"What makes you think I've drawn him?" She asked suspiciously.

"The times that you weren't drawing my magnificent self in that art class were spent flittering about in your other sketchbook." Clary warily handed over her much coveted art book over to Magnus and watched his eyes widen at the picture she'd drawn of Jace. "My my, what a masterpiece we have here," he said huskily. "Not my type at all but one knows when to appreciate good features on an individual. Do we have a name?"

"Herondale. Jace Herondale." Clary's phone began to ring and she found herself staring at a blocked number. Her elated feelings vanished and she excused herself as she went into the corridor. "Unless you're bleeding out in the middle of Central Park with wolves circling your corpse, I don't even want to talk to you."

"_Oh Clarissa, you wound me so._" Clary rolled her eyes at Jonathan's overdramatic demeanor. "_I've looked into the files that Meliorn gave us._"

"And?" Clary said impatiently.

_"Zeke was one of the lower ranking submissives within the Sanguine gang's hierarchy. I sent someone over to his place to try and find us any details regarding Titania's Instrument, but there's no sign of it having been brought back whatsoever after the murder. On top of that, any evidence pointing to Zeke's involvement with the Sanguine gang was either taken into the station, or eradicated by members before the police could investigate further his involvement with Santiago."_

Clary gazed out the window over the campus, watching students rush back and forth between lectures and tutorials. "So someone must've cleaned up while he was gone. If that's the case then we have no idea at all where the artefact is." She ran her hand through the stray locks against her neck. _If I had a rare and priceless object that i'd just stolen off a dead body, where's the first place I'd go to keep it safe and out of reach? _"Look up the local Sanguine members in the area," she said. "Check all video footage and see which places our lead frequented the most, then narrow the number of people he went to see. We'll both go in and pay a visit to each of them, see what they can tell us about the Instrument."

Jonathan snickered on the other end. "_And you say you don't have a talent for this line of business,_" he taunted on the other end. "_Oh Clarissa, I'm sure you'd make a fine asset in our father's business. I still don't understand why you'd reject his offer._"

"Jonathan, the man makes a fortune off those who suffer, his money is covered in blood, and his sense of morality is twisted and depraved. Forgive me if I want to stick to the path of righteousness."

"_Well sister of mine, at the rate you're going, you'll be dancing along the line between right and wrong. Better make a choice whether or not your soul can still be saved with all the things you've done in the name of Valentine._"

Clary gripped her phone tightly, tightening her free-hand into a fist and thumping it into the wall. "Don't assume that you know me, brother," she snarled venomously, ending the call in one swift motion. Clary leaned against the wall and shuddered, a chill running up and down her spine. Clary renamed her last name when she enrolled for high school, trying to distance herself from her father as much as possible. When she was eight, she'd asked her mother about her father, saying that she'd heard a lot of bad things from people in their old hometown. Jocelyn had pulled Clary aside, explaining to her the lifestyle that Valentine lead, therefore painting a gruesome image of the man that her father was. Clary didn't want to do anything with him. She loathed the man. but if she wanted to be left alone once and for all, she'd have to fulfill her deal with the devil himself. The petite woman walked back into the common room where a few students came back for their next class, lounging about. Magnus had thankfully disrobed and changed back into his normal outfit, consisting of pair of dark black trousers, italian ferrigamo shoes, a dark velvet vest over a red button-up, a japanese silk scarf and a porkpie hat. Being such a renowned figure at the campus, the students were use to his presence but every now and then liked to go and take selfies with the gorgeous star.

"Oh, Clary – I've just remembered." Magnus left the small circle of fans and came up to her with a folded up piece of paper. "I'm organising a fundraiser party for one of the charities that I work for. Theme is 'Colour Dash', held down at my lovely Pandemonium Club. I was wondering if you could help a friend out."

"Of course," Clary said. "I'd be happy to help stick sparkly bows all over everything."

Magnus smiled wryly as she took the piece of paper. "I was actually thinking of something else in mind for you, especially with your set of skills. Since this is a blacklight paint party, I was hoping you could be our body paint artist for the night. There'll be payment of course, since this kinda counts as a gig for you."

Clary's eyes widened at the prospect. "M-me? But there's s-s-so many people t-that are better than m—"

"Darling, you are my first and only choice for this occasion," Magnus said stubbornly. "Besides, we both know that your scribbles alone are as good as a Da Vinci painting."

Clary looked down hesitantly at the invite in her hands, her name listed down already as the body artist for the night. Her body tingled with excitement at the prospect of getting her name out in the artistic world, even if it was just for scibbles and such. She looked back at Magnus with renewed energy and smirked. "Give me details and everything else you want me to do."

* * *

Jonathan waltzed over to the breakfast bar in his penthouse apartment, a towel hanging snugly around his waistline. There was a girl passed out on his bed, a blissful smile on her face and a red blanket covering her naked body. Jonathan had to give her points on her technique; she'd certainly overexerted herself last night trying to please him. Sure it was almost noon, but he'd been busy calling up and around in order to fulfill the deal. As he poured himself a shot of bourbon, Jonathan smirked at his sister's ferocity when he called her. Little Clarissa was a fiesty woman to handle, and Jonathan found pleasure in riling her up and about. There was just something about it that gave him a sense of pleasure, of satisfaction even. As he drank his fill, he pondered on Clary's choice to live such a mundane lifestyle. Her dream to become an prominent figure in the art society was such a menial thing to accomplish; an acclaimed curator? Surely it was a joke.

_Che. Foolish Clarissa._

Jonathan moved into the living room, bypassing the latest vintage décor and eighty-inch flat-screen tv mounted on the wall, moving out through the sliding on the balcony. His penthouse was on the fiftieth floor of the building. The apartment was high enough that people passing below would see nothing but a speck, allowing Jonathan to have free reign and view all the lesser beings below. He looked at the clear blue skies, basking in the glow of the sun as its rays were soaked themselves into his toned body. Jonathan pushed his ivory strays out of his face, watching the city with bland interest and began to tap out a number on his phone. He held it up to his ear and listened as the man on the other end answered after one ring.

"_How is my deal progressing?_"

"Everything is running smoothly, father," Jonathan answered. "Clarissa herself seems to be quite involved in this deal. I'd go so far as to say that she's taking point on this case."

"_Good. Your sister needs to learn her place is with us, not in that pathetic la-la-land that she's deluded herself with._" Valentine Morganstern sighed whimsically on the other end.

"How long are you going to entertain her with her childish dreams for?" Jonathan asked impatiently. "You should just bring her back to us, even if it is by force."

"_Now Jonathan, you are my favourite child as well as my firstborn, but you must learn to be patient,_" Valentine tutted. "_I admire your eagerness and your agression my boy, but you need to learn when to apply a gentle touch on soft matters. Especially with your sister. She'll come to us soon by her own choice. We just have to wait for the oppurtune moment._"

The Morganstern boy threaded his hand through his hair. "I've waited for near twelve years, father."

"_And you shall wait a little longer, Jonathan. She will come to us. She may not realise it now, but she belongs with her true family here in the darkness._"

Valentine clipped the phone-call, leaving Jonathan with nothing but the noise of wind and static. Jonathan turned off his cell and gazed across the city. He could hear the girl back in his apartment mewl awake, no doubt wondering where the man she'd slept with had disappeared off to. Jonathan turned around and went back into the bedroom, deciding to go for round three with the voluptuous blonde dozing in his bed.

* * *

**Well, here it is. The next chapter. Things have been running slow, but all the alerts and followers that I've been getting for this story have boosted up my confidence and my imagination, so I've got some ideas fro the next few chapters.**

**Again, review, comment, critique, whatever. I apologise for any grammar errors but this new laptop I've uses doesn't quite register that theres is something wrong with anything until I start proof-reading. I apologise if there is still stuff-ups in this. I think I might do some acknowledgements later on in the future chapters, just to keep things interesting. Don't be afraid to ask me questions regarding this story. **

**Till then, ka kite an and good night world.**

**-ViolentKitsune**


	6. Chapter 6: On the Job

_**Before we continue onwards with this chapter, i'd like to thank those who've been reviewing my work thus far. It makes get all warm and tingly knowing that people actually read my work *dramatic bow on broadway stage in front of fan fiction fans. Right now, its 12:13 a.m in NZ time down in the southern hemisphere, so I want you to appreciate all my hardwork.**_

_**Just kidding, I know you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be reading this, or you'd be going on about how this is a piece of crap. **_

**_The latter half of this chapter was kinda speed-rushed because the idea was just in my head, so i apologize if there's a bit of spelling errors. Other than that, enjoy this and give back feedback please. Like seriously, i need feedback people. Otherwise I might think I'm doing great when in reality its crap._**

**_Acknowledgements in the next chapter guys! Stay tuned for more :D_**

* * *

**Chapter 6: On the Job**

When Alec arrived back at the police car with a donut in his hand, Jace cringed at the image. "Alec – you realise that you are reinforcing the typical american stereotype of all cops being fat and eating Dunkin' Donuts on the job. Its just embarrassing."

"So sayeth the man who's heavier than _moi_," Alec stated back, biting out of his cream donut. "The fact is that you don't bother making lunch at home so you start stealing my food out of the glovebox. And then you start complaining about how empty your stomach is and how you never have enough to eat."

"Shut up, Lightwood," Jace groaned, leaning against the side of the car. Ever since the whole of the Institute had been briefed on the Morgenstern case, Jace thought that his day-to-day life would get a bit more exciting than normal. True, upgrading from standard disturbances of the peace to full-on investigations were beyond his hopes, but he wouldn't mind getting a bit more action. The only things that Alec and Jace had done the past few days was circle around the same blocks, write-off a few tickets, and told off a few punk kids that tried to shoplift from the local dairies. "If something fun and active doesn't happen within the next few minutes, I swear I'm gonna quit my job."

"You say that every other day," Alec sighed, wiping his hands with a black napkin. He quickly cleaned off any icing suger that was on the sleeves of his uniform and thrrough the rubbish in the bin. "Yet you keep coming back to the Institute every morning."

"It's because I can't let the ladies down," Jace said cockily. "They love a man in uniform."

"You're such a barbie doll, you know that right?"

Jace shot Alec a filthy glare that would make even a lion quiver in fear. "I resent that comment you made. I am not a piece of manufactured product whose only purpose in life is to please the young adolescent children of america." Alec blanked out at Jace's comment. The blonde slowly realised the hidden innuendo beneath those words and cringed. "Those came out so wrong."

"Very."

"Don't you ever bring it up again," Jace threatened. Alec rolled his eyes. The pair stood in their spot, surveilling the area for any signs of disturbances that would require their immediate attention. Jace eyes met with a dark-skinned brunette as she sat at her coffe table. She had pale green eyes with brown flecks that promised a night of mischief given the chance. _Green eyes… _Jace's mind rewound back to a night two days ago. He'd wanted to properly Clary for helping him out that night with something more than just a simple thank you card, but he didn't quite know how to approach her without coming off like a creep. Sure, he knew where she lived, but what kind of person wants a guy they've only met once to come knocking on their door asking them out for dinner dates.

_Clary, Clary, Clary. Clary with the emerald eyes and the lava-red hair falling acrosse her skin flawless skin…_

"Move it bitch!"

Jace shook himself out of his reverie and looked at Alec. The two police officers moved their eyes from their car and watched a figure in a wrinkled suit shove a few figures onto the pavement as he rushed past. The man had a black velvet sack in his hands, the kind that you'd expect jewellers would use to hold their precious diamonds and pearls. Back in the distance an older woman dressed in a business suit with pearls around her neck cried out for aid, stumbling forward in high heels in a pathetic attempt to stop the man. Jace shot Alec a smirk and rolled up his sleeves. "You block him off, I run the puppy down."

Alec grinned and dove into the driver seat while Jace began the chase. The man already had a fifteen metres headstart, forcing Jace to rush across the road and slide over the hoods of the numerous taxi cars waiting at the lights. He grunted as he landed hard on the ground, regaining moment as he charged after the thief. The man looked behind him and his eyes widened in fear at the predatory snarl on Jace's face. He put on an extra burst of speed and moved hard and fast along the path, pushing people onto the ground in an attempt to waylaid Jace's pursuit. The blonde officer calculated each movement with exact position, jumping over the bodies and muttering a quick apology in the wind as he darted after the man. As Jace began to cover more ground and gain more distance between the two individuals, the man grabbed a stack of newspapers from a magazine stand and flung the loose items behind him. Jace swiped away the pages that came flying towards his face, growling as he did so. The man had gone around the corner, disappearing down an alleyway.

His walke-talkie crackled to life as an androgynous voice rasped from the speaker. _"We have an armed robbery at Silverdale jewellers. Suspect is wearing a suit and is on the run_." Jace radioed in on the mike strapped to his pocket. "Suspect has just entered an alleyway. Officer Herondale in pursuit of the robber." Jace quickly turned around the corner and watched as the man raced as fast as he could to the metal gate, desperately leaping upwards in order to climb up. There was a metal trash can strewn across the ground and Jace leapt forward to grab the lid. In one swift motion he flung it like a discus, the disk spinning in midair as it slammed against the back of the runner's knees. The man lost his footing and fell back to the ground in a crumpled heap, groaning in pain. Jace ran over to him and was about to pull out the handcuffs when the man stood up and tackled him around his knees, pushing the younger man onto the ground. Jace quickly rose his elbows up to cover his face as the man tried to throw a punch to his head, rolling away from his attacks. Just as he did, he rolled back towards his feet and forced him to roll on the ground. Jace leapt back up and dove onto the man UFC style, plunging his elbow into his exposed stomach. The runner coughed as the air was knocked out of him but still managed to retaliate and throw a well-aimed knee at Jace's ribs.

The wind rushed out of his chest and the man got back up, quickly sliding his leg back as Jace got up on all fours. When the kick was about to make contact with the base of his neck, a hand shot out to grab hold of the man's foot. Jace's chest rumbled as he pulled the man down onto the ground with all his strength. He climbed over the man's wriggling mass and pulled both hands behind his back, digging his knee into the base of his spine. Jace pulled out a pair of cuffs and proceeded to link both hands together, slapping the side of the man's face as he continued to try and throw him off.

Jace ripped the velvet sack out of his hands, feeling the full weight of the stuff inside. "You are under arrest for the act of attempted robbery. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

"Fuck you blondie," the runner spat out, struggling beneath Jace. "You can rot in hell for all I care."

"Already been to hell, man," Jace said sarcastically. "Heard it's quite nice at this time of year for scumbags like you." Jace continued to read out the man's rights while a siren echoed in the distance. A black and white car rolled up outside the entrance into the alleyway, and Alec himself strode over to Jace, his hand pressed onto the receiver of his own radio.

"This is Officer Lightwood. Suspect has been apprehended and is our custody," Alec reported. "We're bringing him in down to the Institute. Have someone there ready to put him in the bull-pin when we arrive." Alec clicked the comm on his radio and looked at Jace expectantly. "Are you feeling better now, barbie? Now that you've done a bit of running around and whatnot."

Jace pointed at Alec. "Shut up. Enough with the nickname." He hauled the offender onto his legs and gripped his head upright as they marched him over to the car. "This idiot needs a lesson in respect and discipline." Jace shoved the man in the car, his eyebrow arching at the amount of obscenities that spewed forth from his mouth. "I think I need a bit more of a work out though. Good warm up."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Of course. Well tell you what. Isabelle's heading down to Club Pandemonium tonight for a big paint party held by mr hotshot himself Magnus Bane. If you want we can head down there for a bit, and you can get your freaky on."

The blonde pondered the foster siblings words. _It would be nice to go out for a bit,_ he mused. "Let's drop the deadweight in the back first. If nothing else happens then I'll drive us myself down to the paint party."

* * *

The offender was about as docile as a pitbull when they dropped him off inside a holding cell, another police officer cuffing one hand to the bar lining up along the wall. Jace merely snickered at the man's empty threats, knowing that those would be used against him when his trial comes up. Jace and Alec made their way over to Isabelle's desk, who was lounging against the polished wood with a paper in her hand.

"The guy's name is Malachi Dieudonne," Isabelle said, handing them a sheet with a list of his credentials and rap sheet. "The man's an accountant up on Wall street. Lab report come up saying that not only did he steal a handful of diamonds, but they also found traces of cocaine residing within the bag, and as a result found a bag of said drugs in his pocket when they frisked him. Guess you could say that you guys made a bust today."

"I think you mean _I _made a bust today," Jace teased, elbowing Alec in the ribs.

Alec flicked the blonde on the forehead, earning a yelp from the foster sibling. "You so bloody childish." Alec looked back at his sister with her dark hair and even darker eyes, taking in her neutral expression. "So I told Jace about the party on at Pandemonium. We still on for tonight?"

"Hell yeah. It's Friday night – of course we're going." Isabelle tapped Jace on the shoulder. "You up for it?"

Jace rolled his shoulders back. "As long as no one tries to get me drunk enough that I'll start pole-dancing, then sure. I'm up for it."

"Wait – you can't go in there sir. You need to make an appointment with the Commissioner."

A flustered receptionist tried to persuade a man to divert from his path towards the Arena, as the officers had so kindly named Commissioner Penhallow's office. The man had thick grey-streaked black hair atop his head, with a prominent bird-beak nose. The man had a thin scar lined up the side of his fae, and dark eyes that were narrowed in calculation as he paced past the trio, storming right into the office itself. All around, members of the police force hushed as the door clicked shut. No one went into the office uninvited, or without an appointment. Jia Penhallow was strict and above all she had a system in play. You go against her system, and you were bound to experience a case of severe whiplash from your actions.

Isabelle whistled lowly as everyone slowly began to resume their lives, training her eyes on the door. "You think the guy was CIA? FBI? White-house level person?"

"I highly doubt it," Alec said. "His outfit didn't exactly scream any of those things. Besides, I'm pretty sure FBI only ever wear black and nothing but."

"Aah, looking better in black than the widows of our enemies," Isabelle teased. "All joking aside, what do you think could've brought that guy down here for?"

"No idea," Jace said. The door opened up and Jia Penhallow stood beneath the doorframe, pointing to all three siblings. "You three. Now." The trio obeyed her orders and followed in uniformic fashion as they entered her office, standing at the back with their arms crossed behind their back. The man was sitting in a seat with a briefcase in his hand. "Officer's Lightwood's and Herondale," Commissioner Penhallow started, "this is Agent Hodge Starkweather from CIA."

Hodge stared at each person individually. "While I appreciate what you guys have done for society, especially with bringing Mr. Dieudonne in, I'm here to tell you that CIA will be taking over this case."

"Wait – you're just taking him? Why?" Isabelle said curtly.

"I'm afraid that the details themselves are above your paygrade, officer," Hodge replied bluntly. "The only thing that I'm at liberty to tell you is that this man is connected to black market dealer Valentine Morgenstern, who is a top priority in our department. We've been after him for the last few years, chasing up any leads that our people have found as well as using resources outside our jurisdiction. Resources like the NYPD and State troopers for example."

"So you're using other departments to do all the hardwork for you," Jace accused. "That seems like a case of manipulation, don't you think?"

"Boy, when you reach my age, you'll see that you can't exactly do everything yourself." Hodge stood up straight, wincing as he moved his right shoulder. He looked across all three before giving Jia a stiff nod. "See that your people stay out of our way. If we need your help, we'll ask for it." He sent one last sweeping motion over the young officers. "You're all so young," he muttered under his breath.

The minute he left the office, Commissioner Penhallow lost her calm composure and tightened her fist. "Bloody CIA. First they say they need help, then they go back on it." She looked ahead at the trio with a sombre expression. "I apologize for that. Standard procedure when other departments come in to take over a case of interest."

"Shouldn't we continue to investigate though?" Jace voiced. "I mean, they've issued out a everyone for everyone to look for Valentine, so can't we—"

"You cannot investigate Dieudonnes because you guys are not at a high enough status." Jia Penhallow said bluntly. She gazed heavily at the three of them. "Which is why I'm moving the second trials up to next week. After that, the three of you will undergo applications and tests for detective status."

All three widened their eyes, their postures slackening at her words. Detective status? At such a young age? Isabelle was the first to voice aloud the sinlge thought that ran through each of their heads. "But Comissioner – aren't we a little young and inexperienced, as you so kindly pointed out at the interviews?"

"Yes," Jia huffed tiredly. "but knowing the reputation that you three have, you won't let this go peacefully. So I'm just going to give you the status to do what you guys want anyways." She sat back down in her chair and began to rifle through the numerous piles of papers sitting on her desk. "Now get out you three. Have some fun tonight before you enter a life of stress and black-bags under the eyes."

When the trio had left the office they were still stunned at the prospect handed before them. Jace looked at them all with a triumphant glint in his eyes. Not only would he be a possible member of the Honor guard, but he'd also be attaining status as a Detective.

"Drinks on me tonight, you two," Jace cheered, throwing his arms around the Lightwood siblings. The three figures walked out of the foyer, the blonde angel boy centred in-between the two dancer siblings.


	7. Chapter 7: nightlife meetings

**Chapter 7: Nightlife meetings**

_I'm on a course of collision_

_I'm not about to give in_

_Can't explain my position_

_Or the condition I'm in_

_Where I am there's no limit_

_No walls, no ceiling_

_No intermission_

_So let the party begin_

Club Pandemonium, one of the most illustrious, five-star rated clubs in New York, was brimming to the roof with pure unadulterated energy, radiating at a distance of at least three square blocks. The walls were smeared with glitter and an array of paintings decorated certain parts of the wall, ranging from figures of people, to 3-D arrays of a rubix cube and a neon panda. The blacklights situated all around the room brought the colours of night to life, causing everything to glow with fluorescent intensity.

Bodies thrived on the dancefloor, pulsing with the rhythm underlying Enrique Iglesias song, _Can You hear Me?_. Women wore clothing that was either tight, short, or revealing, their skin playing the role of canvas to multiple artistic designs that curved up and about their legs and torsos. Men were stripped shirtless with warpaint glowing on their faces, their backs marked with glowing dragons and angel wings.

Jace grinned delirous at the infectious vibe running through the air. Isabelle had picked a good place tonight; most of the joints that she frequented were more low-classed, average raves that you could just hold in a backyard. But this party – the whole venue had gone above and beyond to get in character with it. This place had a theme and it stuck with it, unlike others that forgo the idea the munite the doors open up. His white crewneck shirt and white-washed denim jeans glowed dimly in the darkness, and he saw that both Izzy's and Alec's eyes and teeth glowed blue-white in the dark. Isabelle had a frilly white dress on with several paint splatters and handprints from where a few of her friends had come up to greet her, a neon sign in the dark. Alec was a bit less casual, with a simple teal blue sweater pulled around his elbows and grey jeans.

_Hey, hey, all the way!_

_DJ let it play!_

_Hey, hey, can you hear me?_

_Oh oh oh!_

_Hey, hey, all the way!_

_DJ let it play!_

_Hey, hey, can you hear me?_

_Oh oh oh!_

A girl walked by Jace, winking suggestively at his form. Tribal markings decorated the front of her chest, disappearing under the material of her crop-top and reappearing as a forray of vines and flowers around her navel. "I don't know if these people painted their bodies by themselves or not, but whoever did it is bloody good."

"One of my girls Maia told me that there's a body artist working here tonight, and that she's pretty much responsible for most of the art that we see here tonight." Isabelle flicked her hair in the dark, the light bouncing off it. "I wanna get painted up tonight."

"Where abouts would they be?" Alec asked over the din of the music. "There isn't exactly a sign saying 'body artist right here'."

Isabelle turned her eyes on the nearest male and strode over there in teteering neon green stiletto's that threatened to break her ankles. She walked up and coyly began to play with the hair of a male who had his face painted all over, flirting in the dark. Jace stared at the overconfident Isabelle. "You know, Izzy has the makings of a prostitute. She pretty much walks up to anyone and bang – they're completely hypnotised."

"Please refrain from calling our sister a prostitute," Alec said. "If anything, she's a high-class prostitute. You need to remember that."

Isabelle swung her eyes back towards them and gestured for them to follow. They skirted the outside of the dancefloor, manouevering themselves through the twisting bodies that swung about on their barstools, hypnotised by the colours playing in their glasses. The three officers strode up a small set of stairs onto a raised stage that was half a metre above the ground. The ground was splattered with rainbows in the form of both paint, glitter and shredded shirts that had been discarded by various people in the crowd below.

Jace looked at a small figure, wearing a wide-sleeve kimono top with aztec patterns glowing along the length of it. The figure had a few pink and green spotlights roaming around their stage, giving them enough light to see how their details were coming along, but not so much that they couldn't see the effect of their art. Jace watched eagerly as the person drew a strange rune along the base of their neck, ending with three fingers leaving three trails as they ran down the persons face.

"Chur, you did a mean as job girl," the guy spoke as he looked at himself in the mirror. The stranger flexed momentarily before disappearing off into the crowds. A man wearing a pure white suit with green stripes zigzagging sporadically and a hello-kitty drawn in what could only be assumed as highlighters made his way over to the body artist to talk to the body artist.

"Your buddy Simon's about to get up on stage in a minute," the man said smoothly. "Are you sure you don't want to take a break and go watch the show with everyone else?"

"Magnus, I've already heard what his lot's got to sing, so I'll be fine over here," a gentle female voice spoke through the noise. Something clicked in Jace's mind as he neared the pair. "Besides, I've still got people to paint." The man spun around beneath the spotlight to face them and moved out of the woman's view. The woman had flaming red hair and seemingly familiar green eyes… "Jace? Is that you?"

"Clary?" Jace felt the shock at seeing his midnight nurse in the club. "Clary! Hey!" He moved over towards her, who had one arm out as she gave him a brief hug. He liked the way her small fitted against his form, and was reluctant when she pulled back. "I didn't know you were a body artist?"

"Oh no, I'm just a typical art student at NYU," she replied, brushing a few wild burls out of her eyes. "Magnus over here was nice enough to get me this gig."

Jace turned to face the man, taking mental note of his exotic indonesian features. To his surprise the man was shirtless beneath his jacket, looking for all the world like a high-class stripper with the body to match. "Magnus? As in Magnus Bane? Wealthy socialite and owner of this joint?"

"The one and only," he said teasingly, bowing before him. He shot a smirk at Clary, as if they both knew a secret about him, before setting his eyes on the Lightwood siblings."And who might you lovelies be?"

"Isabelle," the girl said sweetly. "And this is my big brother Alec."

Jace took mental note of how the upstanding socialite's eyes stayed a little longer than necessary on the blue-eyed man, causing Alex to somewhat blush a bit in the heat of the spotlight. "Guys, this is Clary."

Both siblings eyed the small redhead with interest, with Isabelle cocking her head to the side. "Thanks for looking after our foster brother when he got screwed over," she said bluntly.

Clary laughed and clapped her colourful hands together. "No problem. I'm use to helping strangers out, even the creepy ones," she said teasingly as she looked at Jace. He looked at her attire which consisted of a baggy baby blue skater singlet tucked in the front into peach-pink denim pants that showcased the shape of her legs. Nice, slim yet curvy legs…

_Snap out of it_, Jace chastised himself. Clary moved over to her station and dipped a brush in a jar of paint. "Who's up first?"

Isabelle made her way over, leaving her brother with Magnus, and began to talk interrogate Clary, asking her what her current status was, what she wanted to do and whatnot. Jace was surprised at at Clary's boldness to answer her queries; it was a general rule that Izzy didn't have many female friends to talk to other than Maia, who was more tomboy thatn anything. Too often she'd come off a bit hostile and blunt towards others, but Clary seemed to be holding her own with the fast-talking officer, matching word for word with her own inquiries about Izzy's life as she drew a series of runes along her collarbone and right arm. Jace looked back to see where Alec was and was startled to see Magnus with one arm on Alec's bicep as they were ordering a few drinks at the bar. Bot Izzy and Jace knew abou Alec's sexuality and had been quite accepting about it. The only thing Izzy had a problem with was the fact that Alec got a lot of better offers on the market per say, whereas Isabelle had slim pickings with all the 'nice, succulent, lip-biting' options swinging for the other team. Alec had loosened up a few buttons on his shirt and seemed to be at ease around Magnus, even letting the man hand him a glass of vodka in his hand.

_We're so gonna talk smack when we get home_, Jace thought wickedly. He turned to face the girls, with Isabelle standing in front of the mirror to admire her reflection. Her arms had a swirling vortex of curves and spirals, with a flower blossoming on her neck, its petals curling just over the right side of her jawline.

"You have more of a steady hand than a make-up artist," Isabelle breathed, awed by the large amount of detail invested in such a short time. "This is so fucking amazing."

Clary smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Happy to share my skills with anyone."

Isabelle danced away but not before playfully nudging Jace and whispering in his ear, "She's all yours," in a teasing manner. Jace blushed furiously before shuffling towards the redhead. She pointed him over to a polished wooden barstool where he dutifully sat down.

"So, face or body?"

Jace blanked out. "Sorry, what?"

"Face paint only or body as well?" Clary asked innocently, mixing up a few colors on her paint palette. "Or if you want, we can do a bit of both."

"Ahh…" Jace's mind raced at an incredibly fast rate. "We'll go with both. Front only."

"'Kay then." Clary turned her eyes away for a moment, leaving Jace sitting there with no clue what she was waiting for. When she didn't hear movement she looked back at him and said, "You'll need to take that shirt off."

"Oh." Jace mentally smacked himself. Of course she would, she was painting his body. He pulled his shirt off without warning, amused by the pink flush that creeped across the petite woman's skin. She even fumbled momentarily with the brush that was in her hands as she stared down at his physique. Just because he could, jace straightened up so she could get a good view of his upper torso. Jace spent hours during his childhood doing kickboxing and MMA, making sure that he had the necessary skills for when he joined the force in the future. Those hours paid off and gave him a well-defined torso, with strong, definitive muscles between tanned skin.

Clary brought the brush down to his shoulder and Jace flinched from the cold contact. "Sorry about that," Clary apologised furtively. "Should've warned you about that. People keep jerking away because I never remember to tell them and then some of them will complain. I'm really sorry about th-"

"No its fine, I just didn't expect that," Jace said reassuringly. Clary bit her lip and continued to swirl the brush over the left side of his chest, drawing a small collection of irregular spirals. He liked how she brought the corners of her lips into a small quirk as she drew all over his skin. The way the brush moved against his skin had a sensual feel to it, almost tantalizing even. Jace's imagination took over as he pictured Clary using her hands to brush against his chest, her fingers trailing their way up along his jawline and ghosting over his lips…

_Naughty Jace, naughty,_ he chastised again. He looked down at her designs and raised an eyebrow curiously. There were a few gold and red designs that flared out against his skin like fire from heaven, the gold blending in perfectly with the yellow and orange. One of them stood out in particular, looking like a complex key of sorts.

"Just out of curiosity, do these mean anything?" He asked genuinely.

"In my spare time I like to look up random runes and tribal designs, just for inspiration for my art." Clary pulled back and began to drag the brush around the circumference of his bicep, repeating the motion in gold, red, and green. "So, on one of my many searches I found some things called Nephilim Runes. There's a whole lot of them with a lot of different meanings, like this one—" she pointed to one that resembled a complicated 'f' letter, "—means _agility_. Then there's the one I drew on Isabelle's hand that means _gift or talent_. And there's this last one that I'm just finishing up now…" Clary flicked the strands of the brush with a flourish along his neck. "There we go. So this one means _angelic power_."

Jace looked down at the colours that decorated his body, staring back in the mirro at his form. "In all honesty, I reckon you'd be great as a tattoo artist."

"Meh, tattoo's aren't really my thing," Clary said as she moved back to the paints in the corner, wiping the excess paint off her hands with a rag. "Unless it's the simple, meaningful kind."

Jace looked at his reflection and pushed away the blonde strands that obscured his vision, turning back to face Clary. The music had changed to a more upbeat techno song which he recognised as a single from 'Kids of 88'. Clary strayed about in her corner fiddling with the paint buckets around the stage.

"Just out of curiosity," Jace said in a casual tone, "if I were to ask a certain redhead to dance with me, do you think she'd say yes? Or reject me in the most brutal form ever because of a boyfriend that I don't know about?"

Clary paused and tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she looked at Jace. "The redhead would say she can't dance exceptionally well, and warns the other guy that if she looks like a flopping fish, then he is not obliged to stick around with her out of pity."

Jace smiled crookedly at her sense of humour and held out his hand. "You can't be that bad. You just haven't been taught right." Clary gingerly took his hand, placing all her trust in him as Jace lead her in a gentlemanly fashion out onto the floor.


	8. Chapter 8: Invite for Chaos and mayhem

**Chapter 8: Invite for Chaos and Mayhem**

One thought ran rampantly through Clary's mind. Actually there were a myriad of thoughts that ran through her head. Like how Jace had a perfectly sculpted body that would make even Adonis from greek mythology do double-takes and question the state of his body. How her own hands fit perfectly in his warm, firm, grasp. How he was the perfect gentleman, escorting her with his arm outstretched. Even his 'theory' earned him kudo points, because let's face, Clary was a sucker for cute and adorable situations. Especially like the one before. Right now as she was in the centre of the dancefloor with the walking offspring of Aphrodite, one thing thought dominated the whole of her mind.

_Damn he's a good dancer._

And he was. He managed to make her clumsiness seem more like the sashay's of a salsa dancer as they danced side to side. Jace spun her around in the crowd, gently rocking their bodies together. Clary had a gleeful smile on her face as he brought her in close into a tango hold, hitching her leg up around his waist. His hands were on her waist respectively and didn't stray any further into what she'd dubbed as the 'friend zone' up higher on her spine, or 'sex only zone' where her butt was. _More kudo points_, she commented mentally. Jace swayed their bodies in time with the beat, swinging her out and back in so that her body was pressed back up against his.

Her face reddened and she felt heat radiating off her as she felt every contour of his bare abdominal muscles press against her. He moved his lips down to her ears, his breath tickling her neck. "You seem pretty good to me. You've got moves."

In all honesty, Clary knew how to dance. Not typical dance moves that you pull out on the floor at clubs, bars, and parties. Clary couldn't twerk to save her life, neither could she did the two-step or dougie. Rather she knew the kind that you used when you wore swirling gowns of silk and chiffon, when you held your arm on your partner's shoulder and moved in synchronisation with the string quartet of an orchestra. Many a time she'd come to clubs with Simon and on othe off occasion Magnus, but she never had the courage to actually go out and strut the strut, purely because she never felt comfortable enough to.

Clary stumbled over her own feet, falling back against Jace and making them wobble off-balance for a bit, until Jace straightened them back up. She swung back out of Jace's reach and pulled her hand out of his, wrapping her arms around her midriff. "I can't do this!" She yelled over the thumping bass. "I'm an unco-ordinated midget that has two left feet."

Jace shook his head and brought her back in again. This time he placed both arms around his neck and wrapped his own firmly around her waist. Clary's breath hitched up in her chest at this motion and her heart started racing again as they rocked in the flashing strobe lights and burning blacklight lamps. They moved to their own rhythm after a while, distancing themselves from the organised chaos about them.

There was something about this blonde officer that put her at ease, helping to keep her relaxed and calm. She even forgot about how stressful her life had been recently, with both her brother Jonathan and the representative Kaelie Whitewillow coming after her for her part in the deal with the Seelie Court. Only a few hours beforehand the Seelie representative had phoned her via Clary's 'work' phone, asking for an update on the situation. When Clary explained that these things take time, Kaelie had been cold to her on the phone.

_"The Seelie Queen doesn't like waiting for long,_" she'd said to her early that morning. "_If I were you, I'd hurry along with this before you lose your oppurtunity once and for all._" To which Clary had to switch to Morganstern persona, putting the older woman in her place with such sharp words that made even Jonathan's mercurial behaviour look tame.

"_Miss Whitewillow, there is a quote that I read once in novel of sorts. Fictional of course. I don't quite remember the exct placing of the words, but the idea of it was quite memorable of sorts. In our lifetime, there a people that we are born to oppose, our natural enemies you could say. These are the ones we are raised to hate, to lust for the destruction of their kind, to annihiliate from the face of the earth. And then there are the carefully, selected opponents. These ones are quite special because they are our personal enemies, the pnes that we've chosen for ourselves, and they take priority above the rest of their enemies."_

Kaelie had gone silent on her end before returning to a more sedated state of politeness, getting the gist of Clary's underlying message. Some small part of Clary had found a sick form a pleasure in making somebody cower with just a small amount of carefully selected words. She'd recoiled from that feeling and felt sick for even thinking that, because it was a sign that she had a bit of her father in her.

Now Clary was slowly losing herself in the golden eyes of a man before her, spinning carelessly on the dance floor, ignorant of the jealous stares from both the male and female population within the club. Jace brought his head down so that they were both touching foreheads together.

"There. This isn't so bad now, is it?" He said nicely. Clary felt for sure that he could feel the heat coming off her cheeks. She couldn't understand how this guy could still be here with her, after her awkward robot moves and the clumsy ragdoll falls. She allowed a small smile to play on her lips and willed her heart not to beat so wildly in his presence. The last thing she needed was to go into cardiac arrest and have him remember her as the girl that nearly died on him.

_What are you doing to me?_ Clary moaned in her mind. What power did he have that led her to cast aside all her troubles, tearing down all the walls that she'd put up around her.

"Thanks for not ditching." She said loudly.

"Thanks for not rejecting me," he said back to her. His crooked smile was making her heart bounce off the walls within her chest. She pulled back to look around her, casting her eyes from the lazers that bounced off the giant disco ball above them, to the strangers about them and—

Clary stiffened.

_No. He shouldn't be here._

A pair of dark glittering eyes stared down at her from a booth up above. His ivory hair was impossible to ignore, shining like a beacon in the dark. Despite the fancy red suit and black shirt that he wore, he seemed to fit like the last piece of a puzzle, completing this whole scene all together.

_It's not time._

Jonathan seemed to sneer at those below, saving his concieted smirk for her and her alone. His eyes preyed upon her and seemed to convey his impatience for her to join him.

Clary looked back regretably at Jace, who caught sight of her disappearing smile and held her hands in his own. "You okay?" He said, the beating noise of David Guetta's titanium dominating the airwaves.

"I-I have to go," Clary stuttered over the music. She tried to pull away but Jace pulled her back, pulling out the phone in his pocket.

"Give me your number." He yelled over the bass. Clary whipped out her cell and relayed her ten digit number to him. He brought her over to his side and pressed the camera app on his phone. "Smile. Even though I won't be able to forget a face like yours, I still want to see it when I ring up." Clary blushed hard and smiled shyly next to the golden-haired enigma. When he was satisfied, he went to install the photo as her photo i.d., taking the oppurtunity to slide away amongst the bodies from his form. Clary hated to leave him hanging just like that, but she couldn't just tell him where she was going. She lost herself in the crowd before emerging on the outskirts by the stairwell. She moved up as fast as she could, bounding up the stairwell two at a time. When she reached the top, she met three men that stood guard on the entrance to the platform, all wearing typical black silk shirts, leather jackets, and black pants. The biggest of them blocked her entry into the corporate box, staring her down like she was a piece of trash left out on the street.

"This is for private use only, sweetie" he said scornfully. "You're gonna have to turn around dearie and join everyone else down bottom.

Clarissa Morgenstern's eyes flashed dangerously with burning emerald flames and she straightened up, the atmosphere around her arising to a sweltering degree. She mustered a condescending smile and looked pitifully at the man. "Now, is that any way to treat a Morgenstern?" The three men felt a chill run down their spines and stood at full attention. The big guy gulped as Clary moved towards him. "The button up top's undone," she said innocently, reaching up to fix up. "It would be a shame to look so tardy in front of someone of higher-ranking, now wouldn't it."

Despite her short figure, the man felt as if _he_ were tiny in her presence. He'd served under Valentine for over fifteen years, learning that there was always a threat beneath every word. It was a unique skill, having the ability to make people of all shapes, sizes, and ages cower at your very command. Valentine had it, Jonathan Morgenstern had it, and even his beloved daughter – who'd only been with them for a handful of years, had perfected this innate technique to the core. Whens he'd finished he moved out of the way so that she could join her brother in the box. Jonathan had his hands in his pocket as he stared below at the number of bodies moving on the floor, standing before the metal banister that kept people from falling down below. There was a large velvet booth in the corner, with long blue lightbulbs nailed into the walls behind a panel with intricate carvings cut from the wood, letting the light spill through to make dancing shadows.

"How long have you been here for?' Clary asked in a low voice. They were up high above the din of the noise, allowing them to hold a conversation without having to shout over the bass.

"Long enough," Jonathan said innocuously. He turned to the side so that Clary could see his face, wearing a sombre expression. "Did you have fun with blondie down there?"

Clary blushed. "That's none of your concern," she said stoically. "You wouldn't be here without a reason, so tell me why."

Jonathan chuckled darkly as he pushed a stray lock out of her eyes, his hand lingering on her cheek longer than what was to be considered brotherly. He brought his hand down the curve of her face in slow motion and let it rest momentarily against the beating pulse in her neck. His eyes darkened with an emotion that unsettled the pits of Clary's stomach and she wrenched his hand off her skin, shuddering at the possible thoughts that could be running through her brother's mind. A flash of anger crossed his face and his expression returned to being neutral as he inspected the crowds below.

"We found another member of the Sanguine gang tonight." Jonathan toyed around with the collar around his neck, popping open a few buttons. "One of our men followed him to this lovely joint earlier on this evening, so naturally I came here to investigate." He turned to face Clary with a malicious smile. "Then I saw you, sister of mine, brandishing your brush and marking his very body. My initial thought was to just leave you be and take him somewhere else, but then I remembered our conversation we had the other day." He leaned against the railing and stared Clary square in the eyes, matching nature for darkness. "You wanted _both_ of us to interrogate him, so I thought – why not do it here? We're both already here, and no one will truly miss him, seeing as he his escort had left him earlier for another. And even if he screamed, all this noise will cover it up."

Clary felt her stomach swirl at the bloodlust that tainted his voice. She gulped loudly and tried to maintain an air of control. "Just get it over with, Jonathan."

The ivory blonde smirked and snapped his fingers. One of the guards moved into the box and pulled something that had been lying in the far corner of the booth. A man with duck-tap around his mouth moaned as loud as he could, his eyes darting crazily around him as he struggled against the binding ropes choking his hands. Clary recognised him as the guy she'd been colouring before Isabelle and Jace, her work of art smudged against his skin.

Jonathan strode up to the guy as the man sat him down on a leather stool, ripping the tape off in one fluid motion. The gang member howled with rage and snarled at Jonathan. "My boys will know if you try to get rid of me. You so much as shoot a bullet in my head and you'll be dead within a week."

"A week? My, your men sound pretty slow," Jonathan said loftily. "But I guess that's to be expected when you hire any old riff-raff from the street at the drop of the hat. At least I have standards."

The man scoffed, trying to maintain his charade of bravado. He looked over at me and jerked his head up. "You trying to act tough in front of your girl over there? Cos believe me, when I get out, your girl will be the first to get a taste of our special treatment."

"I'm flattered that you think she's my girl," Jonathan said bluntly, his voice losing that condescending tone and changing into shifting hues of pure unadulterated rage. "But here's the thing." He kicked the stool off its legs and watched the man fall flat on his face, hearing a satisfying cry of pain emanate from his throat. "If you're going to make threats on your opponents, at least check that you have the upper hand in the matter. The way we see it, you're nothing but a nobody, a feeder at the bottom of the food-chain in the underworld hierachy. You boast about having so much power behind your name, but in reality, you're nothing Jacob. Absolutely nothing."

The man snarled and huffed in the light, wriggling about in his seat. With one swift move, Jonathan kicked him hard in the ribs. And again. And again.

Clary winced at the blood that the male coughed up, her throat closing up at the image before her. How could her brother do this? Casually beat another man within an inch of their lives as if he did this everyday after breakfast. Clary could feel the force that her brother exerted on the man, adding more and more with every attack. Her brother stopped once the man was choking in his blood and hauled him back upright by his scalp, pulling on the thin black hair that covered his head.

"Now that we've been introduced, we'd like to talk to you about something of interest." Jonathan placed his hands in his pockets and looked at the man – Jacob, borishly. "Clarissa, do you mind taking over?"

Clary was in a moment of stupor as she looked at the unarmed man stitting on his chair. Her brother wanted her to continue with what he started? He had to be crazy – there was no way that she would voluntarily harm someone else unless she felt threatened if her safety was questioned. Jonathan twisted his shoulders and stared at her from the corners of his eyes. Clary recognised this look; it was the same that Valentine had given her when he'd signed the contract that he made between them.

_If you fail to comply and honour your part of this agreement, the contract is void and you will continue serving me throughout the rest of your life, whether you like it or not._

Clary moved towards the man, keeping her face expressionless as she approached Jacob. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, his expression turning to one of smugness. "What are we playing, 'good cop, bad cop'? You think this little girl here will get me to talk with just a bat of her eyelashes. Sorry pretty thang, but you're not exactly up for my standards. You're a little too prudish for my taste."

The Morgenstern within Clary reared its ugly head as she looked at the man. She'd had enough of people in the underbelly of New York assuming that she was of lesser value than what she appeared. Her face twisted into a cruel expression and she knelt down by his head, a saccarine smile playing on her face. "I admit that I have standards," Clary said cooly, running her hand along his jawline with her nails. "And I know I may not dress like a hooker, or throw my body to any avaliable man within walking distance. I don't even look threatening too, don't you think?" She moved in close, looking at the confusion and distrust in his eyes. "But here's the thing 'sweetie'," she said gripping his adam's apple, causing his eyes to bulge open and his breathing to start hitching. "I'm the bad cop here. So I want you to tell me everything you guys did the day Zeke was taken by the police."

Jacob choked. "L-l-look, I don't know what you're talking about—"

His eyes widened as Clary dug a nail deep into his skin, enough to draw blood out. She watched with morbid fascination as it dribbled down the length of his throat, blending in with her artwork. "The day of Zeke's capture, your men invaded his apartment and stole a number of belongings, both valuable on the streets and in the court of law. I want to know what you did with his gears."

Jacob gnashed his teeth together in an act of defiance and Clary sighed. She really didn't want to have any blood on her hands, but she could feel Jonathan's eyes pressing into the back of her head. _This is for a life of freedom._ With a sharp twist of her hands she pulled him up by his adam's apple, forcing him to strain against his seat and choke on his own saliva. She didn't even flinch as she brought her nails up and slashed them across his face horizontally, watching fresh blood rise from the new cuts on his face.

"Now. Let's try this again."

Valentine's daughter loosened up her hold on his apple and watched him choke out a bit more blood off to the side. "Look, i'm j-just the guy t-that follows the boss orders. W-we were just told to get all his valuables and take them up to HQ. Gang law s-states that any valuables we take from someone's home are taken to Raphael and he gets f-first dibs, okay? That's all I know."

"Where does he keep the valuables he picks?" Jonathan demanded from behind Clary.

"I don't know, a warehouse or vault or somethin'. Raphael changes location every few years, " Jacob said. "Look, I've told you all I know about Zeke and that, okay? So you can let me go now."

"Let you go?" Clary turned around and watched Jonathan's eyes smother whatever hopes this man had of regaining his freedom. Jonathan slowly moved towards them and nodded for Clary to get out of the picture. "Why, whatever made you think that we'd let you go unharmed?"

Jacob's pupils dilated with fear and he stuttered again. "B-but, b-ut I told you—"

"Yes you told us what we needed to know, true," Jonathan cut across. "But you've also proven how loyal you are to your boss. And I'm sure that if we let you run free and he found out you traded secrets for your own worthless life, then I'm guessing that he'll question your loyalty and end your lifespan as you know it." Jonathan chuckled and motioned for Clary to stand by him, who complied with his demands, and watched as a man came by and began to undo the binds around his hands. The other, big burly man from the stairs came with a large surgical needle, the plunger pulled out with the inside filled with a liquid substance. He stormed over to Jacob and plunged it deep in a vein in his elbow, issuing a sharp cry from the man. "To cut things short, we are dosing you up with Heroin, to keep your last hours in this world as carefree and memorable as possible. Because believe me, the minute you close your eyes it will be the last thing you do."

Jacob's body shuddered from the shock of the stuff entering his veins, and Clary could see his mind trying to fight the chemical reaction taking place.

"Men, escort Jacob down bottom onto the streets – find him someplace where the hookers frequent. That should give him a thrill." The men obeyed Jonathan to the letter and hauled the man onto his feet, draggin his body down the stairs. When he'd disappeared from sight Clary glared at Jonathan with all her might. Jonathan merely smirked at her face and tilted his head. "What? We let him live and we might as well sign a warrant for our death's. The last thing we need is for people coming after us."

"But you don't have to kill him!" Clary hissed, stepping away from her brother. "There are other ways that you can stop him from mouthing off on us!"

"All of which are time-consuming and costly, Clarissa," Jonathan stated, his voice lowering. "This way is easier because it will ensure that he will never do anything that can threaten our loves ever again." He looked down at Clary with a torn expression, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "Can't you see? I'm doing this for you, Clarissa. Even though you won't join us, I'm cleaning up all the loose ends so that you can still enjoy that mundane life of yours while you can."

The redhead blanked out at his confession. There he was, that sad, lonely boy that lay beneath the layers of barbaric deeds and bloodlust. How could it be that one moment he is cold and bloodthirsty and calculating like their father, the next fearful like a child awaiting for someone to embrace them and tell them it's all right.

Clary tightened her fists and stared at her brother. "You are despicable, Jonathan."

He moved close to her and tapped her nose. "Not as much as you are, sister of mine."

* * *

**There you go guys, chapter 8. This oe took me a while because i had to rewrite the whole dance scene. i wanted to make clary more sophisticated than the rest, so much that she was really awkward when she tries to dance the 'normal' stuff. Thanks to the guys that keep reviewing my stuff, you've put so much faith in me. And to all those who are currently reading, or have just started to follow this story, I want you to clap yourselves on the back.**

**Like right now.**

**Right. Now.**

**Anyways, its morning time and i need to get some sleep. M_orena_ and _Ka kite _****_ano :P_**

**P.S; if you're wondering about the quote, it's from a novel called Days of Blood and Starlight by Laini Taylor - con't remember exact quote but you get the idea. Her novel not mine. also, TMI is not mine, its Cassandra Clare's beautiful world.**


	9. Chapter 9: Under the influence of

**Chapter 9: Under the Influence of...**

Isabelle knew now where she'd seen that Lewis guy from the other day when she picked up Jace at that apartment.

It was because he was the bass guitarist from her favourite cover band Changeling.

Isabelle reeled back in shock when she saw that the band were headed up on the stage later on during the night, taking over the airwaves in the club. Then when her eyes scanned the faces of the band members and settled on Simon's, she nearly fell off her barstool. Who would've ever thought that she'd just come across a member of a well-known band without even realizing it?

At present time the band had gone off stage putting away all their instruments backstage and mingling about in the crowds. Isabelle watched with eyes if a hawk as Simon meandered his way through the crowd, looking shy as numerous amounts of girls came towards, giggling and laughing at him as they forced him into poses with them for the selfies. It was humorous, watching Simon receiving all that attention and yet still feeling insecure and unsure about what to do. Isabelle appraised him, analysing his appearance; Simon was cute, in a geeky way. Good boy was genetically coded into his DNA, and came in the form of fluffy brown hair and mocha brown eyes. The man wore denim jeans and a plain grey and black Henley shirt that was rolled up around the elbows, leaving his forearms bare and showcasing the leather surfer bracelet he had around a wrist. And he was tall; boy was he tall. Isabelle had trouble finding men that were at least three inches taller than her six-foot form, weren't related to her in any way, and weren't riff-raff that trailed after girls from nights out hitting the clubs. Isabelle preferred guys that were in the short-term category, with a bit of bad-boy attitude in them. But in all honest, if she were to head into the steady realm of relationships, she'd probably go for someone like Simon.

_Keep dreaming Izzy,_ she rebuked mentally. _No one takes you seriously enough tor that. Not even Sebastian took you seriously._

Isabelle returned to her drink, sipping away on her green apple martini, eyeing up the number of prospects that she wouldn't mind seeing again after tonight. A few seconds later Simon had trekked his way over to the bar, slumping down on a stool with a heaving chest. His hair was disheveled and it looked like he had lipstick stains all over his face. His glasses were askew and he was just completely gobsmacked.

"Excuse me. Excu—Hello! Over here, customer over here." Isabelle giggled at the man's attempts to hail the attentions of one of the bartenders as they shook up bottles of numerous alcoholic drinks. "Hello? Over here please. Oh geez, someone pay attention please—"

"Bartender!" Isabelle called out. One of the guys with three piercings n his right ear looked across at her. She waved him over and slapped down a few bills onto the glass bench. "Another apple martini for me and—" she turned to face Simon who looked at her with surprise, "—a shot of Jack Daniels for my friend here. On the rocks."

"You got it." The bartender went to work, shaking up a drink and pouring in flavors one after the other.

Isabelle looked at Simon with kind eyes and wore a smug smirk. "The trick is to be demanding. Don't play it safe when you're out at night; they've got to tend to the needs of not only yourself, but about another couple hundred people as well. You've got to make yourself known to them, otherwise they'll just ignore you for the rest of the night."

"Thanks for the tip," Simon said, fixing his glasses up on his face. He was about to slump down onto the bench when he straightened up and did a double-take. "Wait – Isabelle right? Jace's sister?"

"Foster," Isabelle corrected. A small part of her felt pleased that he'd managed to remember her from the other day. She played about with the bangles around her wrist as she studied the bass player. "I didn't know you were the bass player for Changeling." _Lies, I actually knew, but I don't want any awkward silence between us_, Isabelle thought mentally.

Simon's eyebrows quirked up in surprise. "You listen to Changeling?"

"Every now and then." _Only every time I wake up and on my way to the Institute._ Isabelle fluffed her straight hair and flung it back over her shoulder. "How long have you been playing?"

"About six, seven years now," Simon replied. "I got into back at junior high. That's pretty much around the time when all of us – Eric and the rest of the band members, got together to form our band." The brunette smirked in the dark at a pleasing thought in his mind and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, it's hilarious because back then we were so crap, and we had the worst name in all of history."

"Oh really?" Isabelle asked genuinely. She turned around in her seat to face Simon directly and urged him on. "How bad was it?"

"Burnt Spaghetti Bolognese." Isabelle's eyes widened and she tried to choke back the laughter that was threatening to surge forth from within. Simon scratched his head and smiled. "The names got worst afterwards. 'Where's the Keys?', 'Bookworms', and – this was when we were at an all-time low in our lives, 'Unrelated Brothers from Different Mothers and Fathers'."

Isabelle let out an all-time guffaw and found tears threatening to spill from all the laughter. "You're n-not being serious, right?" She choked between words, struggling to maintain a normal breathing rate.

"One hundred percent assurance," Simon replied with a straight face. The bartender came back with their drinks and Isabelle hurried to chuck some of the green liquid down her throat in an effort to regain control. She gulped and daintily wiped away at her face with a black napkin, ensuring that she didn't wipe off all the lipstick. The bass player threw his drink down the hatch, gasping for breath as he swallowed the burning liquid down. "Haven't that in a while. Forgot what it tastes like."

"You're not a drinker?" Isabelle inquired.

Simon shook his head. "I drink, but I usually just get the vodka shots if I'm out with the band or with Clary. And I try to limit if I'm out in town. Never know what stupid things you'll do when you're drunk."

"I know what you mean," Isabelle said. "I'm a heavy drinker, but Jace is such a lightweight it's not even funny. One time he was so drunk at this costume party we went to, and then he started streaking down the street – naked of course, because someone was dressed as a duck and he started yelling 'DUCKS ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD! RUN FUCKER'S!' It was so bloody hilarious, and we don't ever let him live that moment down."

Simon was cracking up as Isabelle regaled him with her story. "Blonde boy Jace streaking? Because ducks are taking over the world? That's just rich."

"Mmm-hmm." Isabelle looked at Simon, gazing into his eyes. He sat up and leaned towards her, holding out one hand. "We haven't been properly introduced before. I'm Simon Lewis, bass player for Changeling and student at NYU."

Isabelle reached out her own hand and shook his, keeping mental note of how his skin was cool to the touch, as well as the fact that he had exceptionally long piano fingers that were callused and rough. "Isabelle Lightwood, police officer at the Institute for the NYPD force."

"Police Officer?" Simon mused. "That sounds pretty cool, catching bad guys and chasing down criminals."

She rolled her eyes. "It'd be good if there were actually people to catch in this city. It so boring here in New york, its pathetic."

Simon waved his hand. "You just gotta know what you're looking for," he said. "There's plenty of dudes to catch out on the street, but you need to be able to read their body to anticipate what they'll do."

Isabelle studied Simon's thoughtful words of advice. This guy was fast becoming to be one of her call-cards for the night, but she suppressed that thought. The brunette sat up and looked at his phone. "I'm gonna head back to my place for the night. Too much socializing with people and I start getting pissed off for no reason. Gotta take everything in small doses."

Isabelle smiled and felt something crack inside her. For some reason she didn't actually want Simon to leave just yet. She was enjoying her conversation with this guy, with his witty remarks, and the way he ruffled his hair and grinned nervously. Isabelle gathered up her things and stood up. "Let's go. I'll hail a taxi for you."

"You don't have to do that," Simon argued, his eyebrows rising in confusion and surprise. "I can get it my—"

"Simon, I've just witnessed you trying to get the bartender's attention, and you failed miserably. I let you go out alone to try and get a ride, and you might as well walk home." Isabelle grabbed a hold of his elbow so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd, and the pair strode off through the club. Isabelle meant to come back straight after she hailed a cab for him, but in the meantime she was going to be a good person and do something nice for him. Once they were outside in the cold air of New York, Isabelle released her hold on him and walked side by side.

"So… you flatting with your girlfriend Clary?" Isabelle asked innocently. She was scoping out the scene for Jace because the last thing she'd want is for him to ruin a perfectly good relationship that was already in existence, and partially because she wanted to learn more about this Lewis guy.

Simon blushed. "She's not my girlfriend," he said. "She's my best friend. We grew up together for a bit in our primary years, but she moved somewhere else for a while. We kept in touch during that time and then her family moved back to New York and we ended up being reunited."

"That's nice," Isabelle said.

"And if you're wondering about Clary, she's single as well," Simon said, winking at Isabelle. The dark-haired woman felt a slight pink blush creep up her cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his head.

The pair continued walking up the street to where the cars were passing by more frequently, moving in silence as horns roared through the air and drunkards swayed by on the sidewalk, their sober friends doing their best to not turn them into a public spectacle. Up ahead was a man that was walking around sloppily, shoving his face into peoples as he yelled out so many words in one unrecognizable sentence. Isabelle was about to tell the man to shove but Simon had already beaten her to the punch, going up to the guy and laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Mate, I think you need to sit down for a bit," he said calmly. "You've had too much to drin—"

"Stupid asshole broke my ribs! Just because he wouldn't let me go properly! Like I'm gonna talk smack!" The man drunkenly threw a fist at Simon who caught it deftly. "Her with the evil eyes, and the man with white hair! Getting me high without me knowing."

Isabelle straightened up and looked at the closely. It was that guy who had been painted up before her, and he had a wild look in his eyes. Up close he had blood drying up on his face as well as his torso. She went into officer mode and moved towards the two men. She fished out the little flashlight she always carried around on in her person from her clutch. Isabelle shone the light through his eyes and saw that he had a dazed look in it, with veins popping out from his eyeballs. On closer inspection she saw that there was a puncture in the crevice of his elbow.

"Simon, put him down," she commanded. Simon obeyed and made the man lean against a lamp-post. "Call 9-1-1 and tell them we have a situation and that officer Lightwood needs the ambulance right away."

Simon nodded and moved to do that while Isabelle tried to sit the man straight. "Sir, I need you to stay awake okay? Look at me."

"Ge, he looked like an asshole …" The man looked dizzily at Isabelle and shook his head. "Cops bad. Santiago don't like cops talking to his men. Cops have to die or else its bad for business."

"Hey-Hey. Look at me." Isabelle ordered. "You need to stay awake. You've got drugs in your system."

"I know," he said plainly. "Had too much fun tonight…" His head began to sway and all of a sudden his breathing began to speed up. Izzy reeled back in shock as the man began to hyperventilate and froth at the mouth, heading into a seizure. His rolled into the back of his head and his body froze up in a hunched position.

Isabelle's breath hitched. She placed her fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse and felt nothing.

The man had just died.

And she didn't even have a name.

Isabelle stood up tall and stared at the body below her. Simon soon came over by her side, frowning down on the body before them. Isabelle looked at the time on her phone and wrote down the time of death for the man, all happier thought of tonight blown away in the breeze as she began to prepare for the arrival of a forensic unit and the ambulance that came too late.

* * *

Simon unlocked the door his apartment and shuffled in morbidly.

Seeing Jacob there, dying before his eyes, it rattled him. When he saw how bad his condition was – the blood, the cuts, the broken ribs, Simon fought the urge to try and help him. Even though they hadn't been great friends back when Simon's life wasn't exactly on the right track, he still regarded Simon with a form of respect.

The forensics team came along and began to seal off the area, while a detective came along to talk to both Isabelle and Simon. Simon recalled the best that he could about the situation, keeping everything to a minimum. Isabelle gave the guys the rest of the details in her attempts to prevent his death. Her face had turned expressionless as she gave her side of the story, commenting about how he kept name-dropping the head of the Sanguine gang.

"We'll have someone look into his background once we get a name," the nameless detective had said. "But for now Lightwood, just go home and sleep it off. We'll take care of this."

Isabelle kept her word and hailed a ride for him, sending him off on his merry way without a backwards glance as she went back to the crime scene at hand. Simon sighed. Isabelle was a gorgeous girl - that he had to admit. And she even helped him out when he was making a fool of himself at the club. He'd been so surprised by her sudden conversation that he'd thought he must be dreaming. Usually girls like her – the tall, dark, beautiful ones that carried themselves' with an air of propriety and were badass to the boot, didn't really bother to give him the time of day. He was always stuck with the loose cannons

The brunette moved into the dark room within his apartment and looked about. The light from Clary's studio was on and he could hear a muffled voice being carried through the still air of the room. Cautiously, he made his way to her studio and leaned against the doorframe, watching Clary.

His flat mate was troubled. The large canvas that she had standing on the easel was messy, without character in any shape or form. Red and black swirled about together on the canvas, with red orange dye splattered on the board carelessly. There were a few flicks of white thrown about amongst the mix, standing out against the bloody hues and thick shadows heaped onto the canvas. Clary herself sat still on her stool, looking so forlorn with her hair out and her clothes a wrinkled mess. Her paintbrush had been deserted and sat against one of the legs of the stool, and there were a few empty bottles of beer down by her feet as well.

_Oh, Clary. _Simon moved towards his best friend and calmly placed his hands on her shoulders, causing her to stop in her ramblings. "Clary, stop. You need to go to bed now."

Simon moved around so that he could look his friend in the eyes, cringing at the fear and anger that lay in them. "He said I was just as despicable as he is. But I'm not. I'm not, Simon. I'm not like Jonathan. He's an abomination. He's the one that likes to torture for fun. But I'm not, Simon. I'm not like him."

"No you're not," Simon said firmly. he didn't know what demons Clary had plaguing her, and it hurt to know that his best friend couldn't confide in him about this kind of stuff, especially when it affected her so. "You're not like Jonathan, no matter what's happened between you two, okay? You are Clary Fray, the best darn friend in the whole world and you need to get up and get to bed."

"But I have to prove I'm not like him," Clary said, her breath fanning over Simon. The bass player recoiled slightly from the beer breath and pulled her up onto her feet. "I have to prove it, I have to prove that I'm still good inside."

"Clary, you are good," Simon said, leading her along to her room in the dark. He gently placed her down on her bed and pulled the flannel shirt off her shoulders before pressing her down onto the mattress. "Now go to sleep. Dreams are always good, right?'

"Right," Clary answered, burying her face in her pillow. "I hope Jace didn't see. Because then he'd think that I'm horrible just like Jonathan."

"Don't worry Clary. I'll make sure Jace didn't see." Simon gently closed the door off to her room and flicked out the lights. As he moved over to his own room in preparation for bed, his thoughts dwelt on the death of the Sanguine gang member. Jacob had looked him straight in the eyes and failed to recognize him, whether it was because it had been too long, or because the drugs in his system had inhibited his senses. Whatever the case, Simon hoped, for Clary's sake, that none of Raphael's men would come around to ask questions about Jacob's death. Otherwise all the work he'd done those few years ago would've been for nothing.

* * *

**Cliff hanger! Bet you guys are wondering about Simon eh?**


	10. Chapter 10: Trials begin

**Okay, just a few shoutouts to a few people. **

**_Lindsayhonaker_, thank you so much. You've pretty much reviewed, I dunno, almost 95% of the content in this story. Very devoted I see, thank you very much. ****To the _guest_ person that wrote 'scary clary' - that comment honestly made my night. It was just so great and I could not stop laughing. Too funny ****stranger, too funny. ****_TIDTMIgirl1_ \- I feel like you get me. Like, if we met in real life and started talking about this, you would just get me. Actually, I feel like all you guys would get me.**

**Well here's the next awaited chart. Might be short, but I was on the clock.**

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**Chapter 10: Trials begin**

"Congratulations to those who've made it through the preliminary rounds for the honor squad. I'm impressed by your determination and the fact that you managed to act well despite me poking around in your personal lives."

Twenty men and women stood at attention in the gymnasium of the Institute, holding their heads up high and keeping their sights straight. Commissioner Penhallow walked passed them in her suit, eyeing up each individual as she did so. Jace struggled to confine the grin that threatened to break free on his face; he was about to make the honor squad, become a detective, and above all he even had the beautiful redhead's number saved onto his phone. Jia Penhallow stopped in front of his tall form and stared emotionlessly at him.

"This next test which I have coming up is a test of your physical condition; strength, speed, and stamina. Some of you are fast," Jia commented moving along past Isabelle. "I want faster. Some of you have a high endurance rate," she cast her eyes across the older lightwood sibling, who straightened up further. "I want you to be able to endure for time and all eternity. I want officers that can maintain control over both aspects, yet still perform at the peak of their strength." Jia moved to stand front and center before the officers. "In this exam you will be split into four groups. There are four rotations you will be tested at over the next two days. Make no mistake officers." Jia grinned and crossed her arms over her chest. "This will be your temporary hell on earth."

Half the officers standing in line smirked at her crack at a joke, while the rest remained completely stoic and still as stone. Jace was part of the former, impatient to see how far he could test his limits.

"Here's how it works," the commissioner said. "Each group will be competing against one another. The better your results are, the higher amount of points your team will receive. The group with the lowest amount will be dismissed from the trials."

A low murmur ran through the officers before Jia silenced them with a sharp stare. "This may not be fair in your eyes, but the honor squad is no mere high school club. It's a serious commitment that requires you to commit one hundred percent in body and soul. If you can't give me that, then you have no right to be here. Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am," the group chorused together.

"Twenty minutes to get ready, then the real work begins."

The groups began to disperse. Some headed over to the board to see the groups that had been sorted out, while others went to change in suitable gym clothes. The rest began their warm-ups for the upcoming trials, stretching out their muscles.

Both the Lightwoods and Jace went over to the bleachers, gathering up their gym duffel bags and sitting on the side to await the start of the trials.

"Did you get the autopsy report on the guy from the other night?" Alec asked Isabelle as he tied up his shoelaces. Isabelle had relayed the events that occurred that night later on in the weekend, shocking both of the guys.

"Yeah," Isabelle replied as she braided her hair into a tight French plait. "Guys in the Basement put the cause of death as overdose on Heroin drugs. But, I don't know, I just have a gut feeling that the cause wasn't that."

"How do you figure?" Jace asked.

Isabelle sat up and clasped her fingers together. "I saw how bad the guy's condition was that night. He had broken ribs and a fractured thigh, and he wasn't quite as crazy as any nutter would be on the stuff. He didn't exactly have the same adrenaline, I guess. It was more sedated. Then when I had a look at the autopsy report, I had a look at how much Heroin was in his system." She reached down into her bag and pulled out a sheet of paper with numbers written on it, showcasing the sheet to the guys. "I compared the numbers with other OD deaths on record, and they're not the same. He had enough in his system to make him die, but not enough that he would die straight away."

Both men stared at Isabelle with thoughtful expressions as they analyzed the meaning behind her words. "So someone tried to get rid of him," Alec said blandly. "Is the department still looking into it? His case, I mean."

"They're trying to I.D the body, but nothing's come up so far," Isabelle explained. She furrowed her eyebrows. "Call me crazy, but I think that he might be part of the Sanguine gang."

"Sanguine gang? Are you sure?" jace asked.

"Positive. The guy was quite adamant about Santiago, and he kept on saying 'cops are bad' the whole time."

Jace knitted his fingers together and leaned down with his elbows resting on his knees. Someone had skillfully disguised a murder as an ODD to throw the NYPD off their tracks. Jace had to assume that it was either out of necessity, because something went wrong and they were disposing of a loose end, or out of revenge for a wrongdoing. The blonde man stood up and rolled his shoulders back, listening to his shoulders pop in their sockets. He tilted his head to the side and arched his neck to stretch the muscles within.

"Well, it looks like we're just going to have to investigate things ourselves now, aren't we?" Jace stated firmly. "If everyone else isn't looking at it with a closer eye, then maybe we should be the ones to look into it."

"Jace, we do that, and we might as well sign our on resignation letters," Isabelle argued back. "I know, I don't want to let this go, but we can't just sneak around behind Penhallows' back."

"We're not going behind her back," Jace said condescendingly, grinning away. "I was going to suggest that we wait until our applications have gone through for detective status. I can't believe you were thinking of going against the law…"

Isabelle blushed and punched Jace hard on the shoulder, a satisfying smirk rising on her face. "Stop twisting my words around, you idiot. You've always been like that ever since you moved in with us."

Jace darted out of reach of her next punch and stood off to the side, holding his elbows behind his head. Alec sighed heavily and looked at both of his siblings. "I can't believe I'm related to you two imbeciles. You both have no consideration whatsoever for anything.'

A whistle was blown and all participants headed towards a big man wearing a black jogger pants and an NYPD shirt. Alec stood up and dragged his siblings towards the others. "Let's just get through this first. The we can worry about dead bodies and breaking rules."

The trials were tedious, and quite demanding on the body. Men and women were faced with time trials, working together both as a group and as individuals. There were the jump hangs, to test strength and speed, bridge holds to test against endurance. Suicide laps were conducted out in the courtyard, accompanied by the beep test straight after. There were no rest stations provided in the trials; everything followed through one after another.

The trio had been split apart in different groups, all shaking hands with one another and hoping for the best outcome. Even though they knew they were good, it wouldn't help if their group did poorly. Jace was on his own with a few other officers down from some of the different precincts in New York, while Isabelle and Alec were put together in a separate group. That meant that he had to try twice as hard as he normally would. His group had been successful at the start, keeping good times at the speed trials. But then as time ticked on and the trials became more demanding, people started to show signs of fatigue and weariness.

Presently, his group was at the sparring rotation, facing off against more experienced fighters. Each of them went up one at a time, facing off against a man with brown skin and unruly dark that tumbled over his forehead in a similar fashion to Jace. His arms had been inked up along his forearms, mimicking that of an unwinding scroll from ancient times of long ago, with his hands covered in loose tape. He had a lean build and was quick to attack, striking at such a fast rate that his opponents had trouble fending off his attacks.

The point of this rotation was not only to see your array of combat skills, but also to get an idea of your reaction rate when in a life-or-death situation. Jace could see that the man on the mat wasn't going to hold back any hits. He was here to test everyone that came in the ring. Jace thought that it was a sign of respect in a way, when a more experienced fighter goes all out on you. It shows that they're not playing around with you, or that they think that you're a worthless opponent.

The guy that went in the ring before Jace, was knocked unconscious and dragged over to a gurney that was on stand-by by the supervisors. Jace winced at the amount of blood gushing from the nostrils and continued wrapping the tape provided around his fingers. The minute the supervisors returned, Jace was admitted entry onto the mat.

Jace took his time to square up his opponent. The guy rolled his shoulder back and took a swig from his water bottle, throwing it back off the mat by his bag.

"What's your name, man?" he asked.

"Herondale. Jace Herondale."

The brown-skinned boy nodded. "Jordan Kyle. MMA fighter and boxer."

Jace whistled low as the two men circled one another. "That's a lot of credentials."

The guy shrugged. "Here's how it goes, Herondale. This is a two minute round. We fight, I study your moves and see how well you react. Throughout the entirety of this fight, I'll be judging you and scoring the whole thing. My notes will add influence as to whether or not you pass. You get one round, and one chance only to impress me."

Jace nodded. "Where's my 'pass go and collect two hundred' freebie?'

Jordan smirked and reached into the pockets of his shorts for his mouth guard. "You knock me out, you get one hundred. You force me out of the ring – one hundred points. You get me to tap out – one hundred."

Jace grinned and pulled his own mouth guard out. He moved over to Jordan and kept one hand up as he placed his guard in. "That's it?"

"Yep. That's i—"

BOOM!

Jace snapped his fist forward in a lunge punch that connected with the fighter's jawline. The blonde watched Jordan stumble back a few steps as he tried to regain focus, When his head had ceased its spinning and he seemed to be more in control he looked over at Jace and massaged his jaw, fixing blonde with a deadly glare. "Cheapshot," he accused. "That kind of move would've had you kicked out in a tournament

Jace raised his shoulders up. "You didn't say I had to fight fair."

Jordan smirked. "You picked that up, eh? That's good. Most of the previous contestants haven't picked up on that yet." He moved into a fighting stance and raised both hands in front of him, his face losing its cheeky grin and turning into a more serious expression. "That means I'll be able to have some fun then."

* * *

**Bring out the popcorn. Fight night has begun!**


	11. Chapter 11: Trials Begin II

**u know u have no life when your doing this instead of studying for a bio test on this evening. I blame the whole of the Fanfiction community for my newfound addiction of writing stories now. It's all your fault, you guys! Your fella's fault!**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**I'm just kidding - I luv u guys :) If you have questions about the story, comment and review and i will address them at the start of the next chapter.**

**Ka kite! And pray for me plez - call down whatever angel, demon or god or diety or spirit you know, because I need all the help I can get in this test. And if i don't do well, well... let's leave it up to your imagination, shall we?**

* * *

**11\. Trials Begin II**

Jace stepped to the side as Jordan advanced towards him and sent an expertly aimed kick to his guts. Jordan seemed to read his moves before he even threw it and caught his leg in both hands whilst sending a kick down to his supporting leg, knocking his leg out from under his own weight and forcing the body onto the ground. The blonde quickly rolled out of reach the minute Jordan let go and bounced back up onto his feet. Jordan's eyes were hard and unflinching as he moved over and spun about, throwing a backhanded fist to Jace's face. The blonde ducked down and shot out a punch to the ribs, fleeting emotion of satisfaction passing through him as he connected with Jordan's body. The brunette grunted and struggled as Jace quickly picked him and threw him down on his side with a loud _thump!_ Jace thought that he had the upper hand as he moved to aim a punch to the face when Jordan rocked back on his knees and knife-handed Jace's windpipe.

Jace's breath hitched as he struggled to breath, his throat undergoing massive waves of pain and his eyes tearing up. Jordan's blurred form stood up over Jace's kneeling form, his posture almost taunting even.

"Come on, blondie. Was that cheapshot all you had?"

Jace's rage flared up and he struggled to get up onto his feet, coughing all the time. Jordan held out one fist and gestured Jace forward. Deciding to switch things up Jace rushed forward and jumped up, executing a spinning tornado kick at Jordan's head. Jordan had neither the room nor time to block and was hit with a large amount of force, sending his body to follow his head down on the ground. Normally Jace would be more controlling with his moves, but with a guy like Jordan pushing your buttons, Jace had to reciprocate his taunts with a few replies of his own.

"How's the view down there Kyle?" Jace teased as he bounced around Jordan. He winced at how his voice had gone from macho man to a barking frog in just a manner of seconds.

"Worry about yourself, Herondale." Jordan jumped back on his feet and lunged forward towards Jace.

The two exchanged blows, one after the other. Neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand; Jordan would drive back Jace with his blows, throwing multiple headshots and alternate between blows to the sides and guts. But then Jace would retaliate with a sweeper kick that would force Jordan back a few steps, giving him time to grab hold of Jordan's oncoming fist and drive him back with strikes to his head, as well as a perfectly aimed knee to the groin. In all honesty, both men were quite skilled in the ways of combat. The other officers in his group spurred them on, shouting out cries of encouragement. Those watching could sense the ferocity and power that emanated from the pair as they fought against one another. Jace didn't know how much time had passed, but he didn't care. Adrenaline seared through his veins and his senses were hyped and on full alert in this match. If anything, time was the one that was moving slow while Jace and Jordan were moving on a separate plane of reality of their own making.

The crowd watched the two spar against one another, observing two separate enigma's. The brown-skinned man had a more animalistic drive, his lips pulled into a snarl as he moved with the speed of a wolf, going in heavy and throwing his weight into every punch. Even the audience could feel the power as he repeatedly slammed into Jace like a crashing wave. They could hear the resounding thump of fist pushing against body mass, pushing through the body as if it were nothing but dough. Meanwhile, Jace was more observant and patient. He allowed for the beating to occur in order to launch a strike at Jordan's exposed vulnerabilities, exerting less energy but attacking with more precision and speed at the brunette. If anything he was more like a warrior of old, an angel of death even, striking fear in his opponents soul and marking him with his own brand of death.

Jace's breathing was beginning to become more labored, and he wasn't as fast as he was at the start. He could sense the energy within him leaving his body, fatigue making its way into his cells. The blonde widened his eyes and looked at Jordan, with blood dribbling from his mouth over his jaw.

_Make this count_, Jace thought unyieldingly. He straightened up and watched as Jordan rushed towards him, bringing his arm down in the form of a haymaker. Jace's reflexes kicked in and he backed out one step, just out of reach before moving forward. The blonde jumped forward and kicked forward in the air. Rather than using his right hand – which is what Jordan expected, Jace deftly switched arms and used everything he had – his weight, speed, and power –and launched his left hand forward in a Superman blow. The minute his fist connected with Jordan's face, Jace knew that the brunette was gone. The body fell back in slow motion towards the floor, a look of shock frozen on his face as he sailed down. When his body was firmly on the ground, Jace began a mental countdown in his head.

_Ten… nine… eight… seven…_

Jordan's body began to squirm about on the floor-

_Six… five…four…_

He started pushing himself off the floor, his head waving about in a dizzy manner-

_Three… two.._

-And he slumped back onto the floor-

_One._

"Time!"

Jace moved groggily over to Jordan kneeling down and turning the brunette over. Jordan's eyes were closed and one nostril had blood pouring out freely. Jordan managed to open his eyes a fraction and they rested solely on Jace. He mocked-punch the blonde on his arm and grinned.

"Not bad Blondie," he teased. "You… did good. Left-handed… didn't see that."

Jace smirked, wincing at the pain that blossomed from his jaw and his throat. "Payback for the throat." Jace left him in the care of the supervisors and headed over to where the rest of his group was, grinning as they clapped him on the back, putting ice on his bruises to stop the swelling. But this was just a momentary victory. They still had a lot more to go through.

* * *

"Hey mom, did you want Jasmine or Green tea?"

"Jasmine, sweetie."

Clary gently poured steaming hot water from the jug into a large red jug, adding in the sachet and letting the bag seep for a few minutes. Her mother Jocelyn was currently residing on the balcony on a beanbag, sketching out the streets below in the sketchbook she brought with her. Her mother wore a floral tunic over a pair of creased jeans and tennis shoes, her hair brushing the bare skin on her neck.

When her mother and stepfather had arrived on Sunday night, Clary had been completely ecstatic and leapt into their arms. Their arrival was a welcoming distraction from the matters at hand, such as her brother and, more importantly, the payment for their rent. Her father had been late in paying her for her involvement with his 'activities' and Clary was starting to get restless. She didn't like depending on the man, but her student allowance and living costs could only do so much for her.

Jocelyn Fairchild-Garroway was an older, taller replica of Clary. They shared the same crimson red hair, hers cut in shoulder-length was Clary's still tumbled down her back in unruly curls. Jocelyn had the blessing of being a slender five-foot-eight, while Clary was still stuck with her five-two figure. But the eyes – soulful, emerald orbs that could shift from seductive, never ending pools of green to burning flames. They were the exact same copies.

Her step-father, Luke Garroway, was in the bathroom, greasing the hinges on the wooden door. He was tall and rugged looking, with dark hair with a few grey streaks that was tousled due to his habit of running his fingers through it out of nervousness. He was undeniably strong as well; whenever he picked up an object or did some heavy lifting, Clary could see the muscles bulge slightly beneath the skin. Luke held an oil-can in one hand and was dressed in a grey flannel shirt, with a plain white shirt underneath and grease-stained jeans. The man was the personification of hard-worker. Luke ran a bookstore back home but also did part time gigs as a plumber and builder. He always had to be doing something – he couldn't just let things lie as they were when he had the ability and the skillset to fix or improve himself.

"Here you go mom." Clary handed her mother her mug while she retreated back to the comforts of her studio, holding a bottle of aloe vera juice in her hand. She looked over in the corner where her latest disaster-piece from the weekend resided. She'd been absolutely mortified that she reverted back to drinking. It was a habit that she thought she'd long outgrown, but as it turns out, was still their, laying dormant beneath layers of mental regression. Painting and drinking never went well together. She'd always start painting her impression of events that had occurred within the last twenty-four hours and was even susceptible to spurting out whole truths. Fortunately, Simon had told her that the only things she kept mentioning over and over again when he put her to bed were Jace and Jonathan's names.

Clary picked up a large sketchpad with a sketch on it and set it up against a large board on the easel. With a practiced hand, she began to fill in the outlines lightly with watercolors. Shades of orange and pink splashed onto the paper to create a vivid sky as it felt the first colors brought on by morning. Gunmetal greys, whites, and chromatic blues formed the towering skyscrapers in New York, with a few shadows cast by their forms crossing the river.

"Your technique's absolutely perfect."

Jocelyn walked up towards Clary and placed a slender hand weighed down by her engagement ring onto her daughter's shoulder. "Meh, it's fine. It's not great, like Bam! - instant Louvre or Guggenheim museum material right here. But it'll do." Clary paused in her movement and stared back to look at her work. She turned to face her mother who wore a semi-smile on her face.

"Any work of my daughter's is a masterpiece in my eyes." She doted upon her daughter.

Clary smiled. "I know you're saying that because you're my mother, but we'll pretend it matters."

Jocelyn pinched Clary's cheeks and moved over to her desk. She turned to face her daughter and fixed a penitent stare on her. Clary felt her mother's gaze weight down on her, and she sensed that she was about to do one of her 'intervention' conversations

"Whaat did I do now?" Clary asked innocently, pulling big doll eyes on her mother.

Jocelyn looked at Clary ruefully. "There's something going on with you Clary. I don't know what, but you just don't seem as energetic as you use to be. There's something weighing you down, sweetie."

"Pffft, I'm fine," Clary said nonchalantly. "Nothing interesting going on in my life."

Jocelyn arched a fine eyebrow and gazed at Clary, attempting to stare her into submission. Clary puffed up her cheeks to keep herself from laughing, because that was her tell when it came to lying in front of her mother.

"Clary, I'm your mother. I've raised you over eighteen years. I know everything about you from the first moment you spoke your word, to when you snuck out with Simon to a boxing match at the local YMCA, to the moment when you when you were contacted by your father."

Clary stiffened slightly at her mother's last comment. Valentine was still a soft topic between them.

"Clary, I want you to answer me truthfully when I say this," Jocelyn said sternly. "Have you been talking to your father of late? And no half-ass answers."

Clary wriggled about on her seat, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. "…Yeeess."

"And have you been meeting up with him?"  
Clary shook her head. When she had made the contract with her father, one of her conditions was to never, ever meet up face to face. Indirectly, she could permit – but if he ever tried to ambush her into meeting up with her, then she would call the cops on him, and drag him down, even if she went down with him.

Jocelyn pursed her lips as she studied Clary's expressions. Clary tried to remain as stoic as possible, hiding all traitorous thoughts that rambled about in her head.

"Clary, I'm not going to pretend that I'm not bothered by the fact that you've been associating yourself with him. And I'm not going to pretend that I'm a saint and say you shouldn't be talking to him at all, because then I'd be making myself a hypocrite. After all, I married the man despite knowing everything about him." Jocelyn sighed heavily, her eyes downcast on the floor. "I just… I just hope you're being careful around him. If he's still the same man that I divorced, then you need to be wary with your doings with him."

Clary nodded. She twirled a brush between her fingers and stared at her mother with curious eyes. "Mom – why did you marry him? You knew everything about him, his criminal past, the bad things he does. What made you stay with him?"

Jocelyn smiled sadly and moved towards her daughter. "I guess I was just blinded by the things I wanted to see in him. I thought I could change him, turn him into a better man than what he was. And I did – or at least, he let me think I did. There were only two times when he stopped doing criminal activities during our marriage, and that was when I was pregnant with you and Jonathan. It made me so happy, seeing him forgo those things, but then he'd start slipping through the cracks, falling back into his old habits, resuming command of running an entire underground empire."

Clary noticed a more somber aura whenever her mother began talking about Valentine. No matter how many times she spoke out against Valentine, reprimanding his deeds and looking down upon him with seething hatred, Clary could see the remnants of the woman who was still in love with him.

"Do you still love him?" Clary ventured. Jocelyn's eyes knitted together in puzzlement and her daughter clarified herself. "Valentine. Do you still love him."

Jocelyn eyes hardened and Clary could see that she'd hit a sensitive point. But she needed to know – Clary had always wondered but never had the courage to ask outright. With her mother trapped in her studio, and Luke busy doing handy-man chores, who could've asked for a better opportunity?

"The man was my first love, I'll admit," Jocelyn admitted, gliding towards the door of Clary's studio and looking back at her shoulder. "And yes I still love him. Not as strongly as I did before, mind you. But I still love him."

"Why?" Clary demanded harshly. "The man has nothing to show but a vault of bad memories."

Jocelyn smiled softly, gazing down at Clary with a soft expression. "Because he gave me the greatest daughter I could ever ask for."


	12. Chapter 12: It's a day-date

**I apologise for the long wait. Writer's block, you know how that is. That, and I've got a pile of University assignments to begin attacking *pulls out rifle gun and starts shooting at those deadly paper monsters.**

**I'll try to do some more chapters this week. Till then, enjoy, and try not to be bored out of your mind.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: It's a day-date**

Jace shuffled down into the parking lot of the Institute, wincing at the pain that was still lying dormant in his muscle tissue, awakening every now and then. Beside him Alec had one hand gripping the strap of his duffel bag, his face twisting in a slight grimace.

"Well, that's challenge one over," Alec said optimistically. "All we have to do is wait for the results. Till then, we just need to focus on our own jobs."

"Where's Izzy?" Jace asked curiously. "She disappeared somewhere after the trials. Where'd she go off to?"

"Isabelle is her own person," Alec said blatantly. "I am not responsible for her well-being and frankly I don't give a care. I've got my own business to take care of."

"Oh yeah?" Jace asked casually. "What kind of business?"

"Just meeting a friend," Alec said. Jace could see a slight twinge of pink on his cheeks and he thrust his arm out to stop the fair-skinned male in his footsteps.

"Hold up, wait a minute," Jace said slowly. "I've known you for about sixteen years or so Alec, and if there's one thing that I have to say about you, it's that you don't just go out to 'meet a friend' without spending at least a twenty-four hour heads up about who you're off to see."

"Am I not allowed to be spontaneous?" He asked impatiently.

"Alec, you are OCD. You have a schedule you stick by and you hate it when things are out of your hands. You're a full on control freak. Being impulsive and stupidly spontaneous is my department of specialty and you know it." Jace stood in front of Alec and stared him in the eyes, narrowing his as he stared at his foster brother. "Who is this secret friend of yours and why have you not spoken about them in the past twenty-four hours?"

"Jace, get the hell out of my way," he said chastely, reaching with one hand and gripping the blonde's arm in a tight squeeze that was akin to that of a boa constrictor.

The blonde's eyebrows shot up as his brother went on the defensive side. In a matter of seconds Jace's face fell into a gleeful smirk and he twisted his arm out of Alec's grip. "Someone's got a da-ate," he sang. "Okay, who's the guy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, pulling out the keys to his Nissan 370Z, the silver surface gleaming dully in the flickering light in the parking lot. Jace smirked away and watched Alec slide into his own car, listening to the engine growl to life. He backed the car out and wound his window down so he could talk to Jace, wearing a pair of ray-bans to cover his eyes.

"And for the record it's not a date – it's just a friendly meet-up."

"Sure, sure," Jace said sarcastically.

"I will literally back this car up and run your ass over if you keep that up," Alec threatened, his face devoid of any humor. "Tell mom not to wait up for me, alright?"

Jace watched as his foster brother backed up and zoomed his way out of the parking lot, bypassing a few people that were heading out to their own cars. Jace recognized Jordan Kyle as he strode over to a brilliant red Ducati, with custom gold paint stripes along the sides. On the front was the head of a wolf spray-painted in gold, shining brightly on the front. Jace strode over towards the brunette with a casual manner. "Kyle."

Kyle looked up with a stern face before relaxing when he saw that it was Jace. He leaned against his motorcycle and watched Jace pad along towards him. "Back for some more, Herondale?" he joked.

"Wait another day, Kyle," Jace answered. "You look like you're gonna faint the minute I hit you."

"I bloody feel like it," Jordan said, hunching his shoulders up. "Some of those fights today were pretty demanding – which is good because I needed a workout."

"Speaking of which, no hard feelings about today?" Jace said gingerly, holding out a hand of symbolic peace.

Jordan smiled and shook his hand firmly. "Of course man. I don't ever hold grudges against those that I fight with in the ring. My mentor and instructor always told us that we never take the fight out of the ring. It just leads to more bad blood between us, which isn't more of what humanity needs." Jordan glanced at Jace's face and whistled. "Got you good, didn't I?"

The blonde smirked. "Yes, you did. Who was your trainer?"

"_Is._ The man still trains me. His name's Alaric and he works down at Huntington Gym off Broadway." Jordan stood up straight and stared Jace in the eyes. "You know, you're a pretty good fighter. You've got a wide range of skills to call upon, and you seem to know your stuff. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you use to be a MMA fighter once upon a time."

Jace shrugged his shoulders, tightening the strap of his bag on the one shoulder. "When I was younger, I wanted to learn how to fight. Mainly it was to look good in front of the girls and intimidate the rest of the males in my school, but I also wanted to be able to protect my foster family, especially after I lost my real family when I was younger."

"Foster?" Jordan asked. "Would that be those two you were hanging with earlier before the trials started?"

"The Lightwoods? Yeah." Jace flicked his gaze somewhere else, looking around at the surroundings.

'Sorry about that man," Jordan said reverently.

"It's fine. I didn't really remember my real family, so it doesn't matter to me now."

The dark-skinned brunette nodded and pushed his hair out of his face. "You know, if you're ever bored and you wanna do something different, just come find me down at Huntington's." He threw one leg over his bike and sat down on the seat, pulling the helmet off the back of his seat.

"Thanks, but I'm trying to keep the visits to bars to a minimum," Jace said.

"We don't do bars," Jordan explained. "We organize and run cage fight tournaments once a month. If you're ever in the neighbourhood and you want to blow off some steam, come see me. Or if you just want to watch people get their game on and pick up some tips, then you should still come."

"I'll think about it," Jace promised. Jordan seemed like a trustworthy guy, and he had a good sense of nobility about him. Jace waved as the brunette pulled his helmet on and revved the engine of his bike loudly, creating a few skid marks before flying out of the parking lot out onto the road. He liked the guy's easy-going attitude, and how he had an equal balance between seriousness and playfulness. Jace moved back over to his car and settled down in the front seat, relaxing down into the leather interior and throwing his bag onto the seat.

"Hey Baby," Jace said, tapping the dashboard. "Daddy's back."

The blonde officer pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his contacts, looking at all the random names he had in there. There were numerous females that had at some point or the other hacked into his phone and programmed their numbers into his cell, giving themselves annoying names like 'Baby Diandra' or 'Sexy Michayla'. Jace grimaced and began ditching some of the contacts, mentally commenting on the photo ID's that accompanied them. Some of them had put up photo's of their racks or posed with pouty lips in an attempt to be sexy. Jace mentally slapped himself; how the hell did he end up with all these numbers in the first place? Sure he liked to do a bit of flirting when he went out, but he never went all the way with any of them because they were never his type. They were all too aware of themselves and manipulative with their looks. Jace didn't want someone who knew how to utilize the looks they'd been given since birth. He wanted a girl that was easy on the eyes, who was assertive but not too full of themself. Someone who was balanced between angelic innocence and sass.

Someone like the redhead…

Jace scrolled back up to the top and looked at the recent addition to his contacts. He'd programmed Clary under 'Redhead', smiling away at the photo he'd taken of the two of them. Clary had a sweet smile on, with her cheeks blushing a sweet shade of rose pink on her cheeks. Her red curls tumbled naturally over her shoulders, curling up against the sides of her neck and her exposed collarbones.

Jace calmly reflected on that night, relishing in the memory of her in his arms. It was adorable how completely clueless she was that night on the floor; the girl was a total killer when it came to administering first-aid and artistic expression, but the minute she got out on the dance-floor she was tripping up over her feet. Jace had to withhold himself from scooping her up in his arms when they were out. She'd been so innocent but the way she'd moved when they danced together as partners drew out the not-so-innocent imaginations within Jace's mind.

His finger hovered over the dial button on his screen. Should he call her? Ask how she is? Would he come off as some creepy guy that she wanted nothing to do with? Or worse, would she feign ignorance and pretend that she never gave out her number to him?

Jace's mind ran rampant with emotions of fear and excitement. This was all new territory for him – usually he was more confident with his approach to women, but there was something about Clary that threw his game off. He didn't want to act like a total jack-ass, neither did he want to come off from the wrong angle. The few girls he'd gone out with, he'd taken on the approach of playing 'fetch' with them. One moment he'd shower the girl with attention, her eyes blinded by adoration for her perfect 'boyfriend'; the next he'd start slowly extracting himself from them until they were all but begging for his attention again. He knew he was being a dick with these girls, but they never seemed the type to want a serious relationship. They never put in any effort, so why should he do so?

Jace looked down at the screen again and, with a firm resolve, dialed her number. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to the machine beep to life. He held his breath as he listened to the dial tone, experiencing a series of mixed emotions as he waited for the inevitable. _If she doesn't pick up, then I won't contact her until I see her again, whenever that is,_ Jace thought resolutely.

The phone cackled to life and Jace gulped as he heard a light voice on the other end. _It's too late to hang up_, he thought as he waited for the person on the other end.

"_Welcome to Bath house of—do we really have to do this?"_

_"Yes, you do Clary."_

_"Argh." _The female voice on the other end coughed and come out sounding like an old woman's croak. "_Welcome to bath-house of Rainbow's, where we use natural spring water and unicorn pee to give you the best treatment in existent. I'm Madam Clary Fray - how may I assist you today?_"

Jace took a moment to process her words before he let out a laugh that he struggled to smother. The girl was classic. "Clary, it's Jace," he answered between his laughs.

He heard silence on the other end and his laughing ceased. Did he scare her off? "Clary? Are you there?"

More silence answered him and Jace began to thread his fingers through his hair out of his nervous habit. "Clary?"

"_Please tell me that this is a dream and I didn't spit all of that out to you on the phone,"_ Clary begged on the other end.

Jace chuckled. "Sorry darling. Points for the future though, your old lady voice needs to sound a bit more hoarse if you're advertising for spa services in springs with unicorn pee properties. Makes it seem far more mysterious."

"_OH MY GOD!," _Clary cried on the other end. "_I'm so sorry about that. That was a dare that me and Simon had going on for the past two weeks. I didn't mean to come off like a creepy kid. Oh my god, you're going to think I'm a weirdo for the rest of my life-_"

"Hey, hey that's fine," Jace said soothingly. "It's not as bad as the campaigns I use to write up when I was a kid."

_"But you were a kid. I'm a full-grown adult."_

"Okay, how 'bout we rewind time and forget that ever happened, 'kay Clary. Just pretend there's a balloon in front of you with that memory inside. Now we're going to take a pin and pop it, okay?" Jace mimed popping a balloon in his car. "Bop. Memory gone."

Clary seemed less hysterical on the other end and far more her usual jolly self. She managed to let out a laugh and he could hear he tapping away on the table. "_What does the great officer Herondale need?_"

"Can you stop calling me that? We've bypassed the last name basis, and I think it's unfair that I call you Clary when you don't do the honor of doing the same to me. My name deserves the privilege to be uttered out loud – women adore the letters that make up my name."

Clary laughed on her end. "_Ha-ha, funny ha Jace,_" she said teasingly.

Jace tilted his head on the side. "Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime, just for casual meet-up?" _Lies, I want to take you out but I'm too chicken at this point._

"_Meet-up with Jace Herondale,_" she pondered on her end. "_Okay._"

"Really?" In all honesty, Jace thought she would've rejected his offer.

"_You sound surprised,_" she commented. "_What, did you think I was going to drag out your ego and smash it to tiny little pieces and burn the rest of it?_"

"N-no," Jace stuttered. Oh hell he was stuttering now. What was it that this girl had that no one else did? "When's a good time for you?"

"_What day's are you off patrol?_"

"I have Thursday off this week. You up for it?"

"_Sure. Come swing by the art department at NYU around one. I have a class on the ground floor so just rock in. Then you can lead us, o fearless one to whatever amazing paces there are in New York_."

"Thursday, art department, got it," Jace said with a smile.

"_It's a date then,_" she said. Jace smiled as he heard her splutter on the other end. "_I meant as in a date, like a d-day date, not date-date. Like calendar, not couple da—you know what? I'm just going to hang up now. I'm killing the image you have of me_,"

"See you then Clary," Jace said.

"_See you then._"

* * *

**Yes, there was a little bit of teasing with Jace's story of how he lost his family and I know that this chapter seems a lot more slower that usual. But please - do not falter good readers. There will be danger, action, and love springing forth in the future chapters to come.**

**-Violentkistune**


	13. Chapter 13: Appointment with Morgenstern

**Next chapter is up guys :D**

**Chapter 13: Appointment with Mr. Morgenstern**

Jonathan leaned back in the leather recliner, gazing about him with an air of sophistication. The women that were strolling about in the lobby gazed at him appreciation and ardour, their eyes running up and down his body. Morgenstern's firstborn wore grey pants that fitted loosely around his legs, paired up with a black button-up underneath and a bold midnight blue blazer that made his hair shine like an evening star. His attire was similar to that of a private school boy, but his attitude was like a man prowling the city for a woman to please. His dark eyes beckoned all those around him to look and see him, drawing their desires to him.

Jonathan gave a crooked smirk towards the leggy brunette sitting at the desk, watching her face blush with the faintest tinge of red. He could see her squirm about in her seat, and watched her adjust the skirt of her dress. He wondered how loud the girl would moan if he ran his hands up the length of her body, caressing her naked skin in the comfort of darkness. Would she arch her back in response to his touch? Guide his hands to the points where her pleasure intensified? Nip away at his jugular as her hands descended lower…

"Mr. Morgenstern?"

Jonathan shook himself out of his reverie and turned to face a woman with pale white-gold hair that fell along the frame of her face in loose waves. Her body was petite and slender, disguised beneath a tight-fitting knee-length sheath dress, with lace overlapping the top of it and cap sleeves. The dress was a deep shade of purple and her eyes were stunning as the sea, caught between green and blue hues. She moved towards him in teetering white stilettos' with all the grace of a gazelle, eyeing him up over the top of her thin-framed glasses.

Jonathan stood up and straightened out his jacket, fixating the blonde with a heated glare as he ran his eyes up and down her small body. "Miss Blackthorn, a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, Morgenstern," she said blandly. "Follow me."

Jonathan strayed a bit behind the blonde as they carried on towards the elevators at the end of the lobby. The two entered into the confinements of the box and shut the door before anyone else could go in with them. As the elevator began to ascend, Jonathan gazed at Helen's small body with a hint of desire.

"Have you missed me?" he said teasingly, his words floating in the air.

"To be honest, no." Helen turned around to face the ivory blonde with a look of boredom. "I heard so much about how wonderful you were in the bed, but after that little… social experiment of ours, I was quite disappointed. If I were to rate your overall participation it would probably be a generous three."

"Oh, come now Helen," Jonathan said hazily, gliding his fingertips along her bare shoulders. "You weren't exactly quiet that night. Neither were you shy about anything. And I could hardly do anything when you wanted to do all the work yourself."

"Jonathan, I graduated university with a conjoint degree in business management and theatre. You should pay more attention to when I'm actually feeling pleasure and when I'm acting out just to make your ego feel better."

Jonathan chuckled low and dark. "Miss Blackthorn. That wall of ice you've put up around you may fool others, but it doesn't fool me." He brought his fingers down across her collarbone and drew a slight pattern down the center of her chest.

Helen pushed herself up against him and splayed her fingers across his chest. "Mr. Morgenstern," she said sweetly, bringing her lips up to the beating pulse on his neck. Jonathan felt a thrill rush through him as she slowly nuzzled the crook in his neck. "I'll let you in on a little secret of mine. While I may have had _some_ good moments with you that night, I've had far more pleasurable experiences with _my_ _own _gender than I have with the opposite sex. The girls put up far more energy in their techniques, and they're not so easy to tire out."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Helen glided out effortlessly, unaffected by the little conversation that she'd just had with Jonathan. The silver-haired blonde smirked wickedly and followed the woman to the main office. She was a wicked seductress and she knew it.

Helen swung open the door of the main office, heading in first. "Mr. Morgenstern, your son is here to see you," she announced.

"Let him in, Miss Blackthorn."

The blonde gestured Jonathan in, who glided in effortlessly. The office was like a study in a law library; shelves were filled with volumes of encyclopedias'; antiques were placed strategically around the room, with a wooden globe centered on the black coffee table, tilted on its axis. There was a leather chaise on either side of the table, and a large red velvet recliner behind the teakwood desk. Behind it was a man dressed in black dress pants, a white dress-shirt and a grey vest over the top of it. He had ivory white hair and was tall with a large stature akin to that of a boxer. Somber tones of Mozart's aria rang out from the speakers set up in the top corners of the room, the notes echoing and bouncing off the walls.

"Hello father," Jonathan greeted.

Valentine turned to face his son with a small, polite smile on his lips, a glass of whiskey in one hand. "Jonathan. You came."

"As always father," the young man replied. He reached over for the bottle on the bench and grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. "How's business faring?"

"It will do for now," Valentine said, moving towards the chaise. He sat down on the seat and watched his son with an air of interest. To anyone who saw them together, they looked more like siblings than father and son; while Valentine's hair wasn't as vibrant as his son's, they both carried the same mannerisms and treated each other more like partners. "The shipments are on schedule which is good, and the Van Gogh you acquired has been confirmed a real masterpiece and not a copy."

"Hmm," Jonathan mused. "Maybe we should get Clarissa to come in and do the restoration work on it. She wouldn't be able to pass off an opportunity to work on such a piece."

"Perhaps," Valentine said. He sipped away at his glass and looked off to the side. "And how is your sister? I trust Clarissa is doing well?"

Jonathan sat down on the chaise and sloshed his drink about in his glass. "Clarissa is doing fine. She seemed especially… active, shall we say, when she was helping me out with that Sanguine member last weekend. She had a hissy fit afterwards, but I could see that she practically relished in the act of drawing blood from him."

"She's improving," Valentine said. "That's good. She's too much like mother in the sense that she deludes herself with morals' that restrict one from carrying out their true desires. Keep track of her progress, and make sure that she's actively involved with" Valentine stared back at his son with a gentle expression. "Did you dispose of the body properly?"

"Of course. The police suspect nothing. And even if they did, the evidence that they have collected will just contradict their suspicions."

"You impress me as always my son," Valentine complimented. He settled his glass down on the table and stared at his son with curiosity. "Now, what's the main purpose behind you meeting with me today? What do you need that you cannot already get?"

"The Sanguine member that we interrogated last weekend told us that Raphael has a vault which he keeps all the objects he deems valuable within. I've found records indicating that he owns a warehouse down in the Bronx, and that he uses it as headquarters for his crew. Unfortunately, he keeps close watch on the property and owns a penthouse next to it, which rules out any scenarios of us going in. Raphael covets his belongings fiercely, so we can't barter with the man, otherwise he'll suspect an ulterior motive behind our moves. Not to mention that he and I have a bit of … bad blood between us, so I can't exactly meet up with him face to face to do any dealings with him." Jonathan said gently.

Valentine's gaze turned to steel as he looked upon his son. "Jonathan, you know the rules."

"Don't make enemies with the Heads, yes I know," Jonathan said in an exasperated tone. "But Raphael refused to conform to the conditions of the agreement we made last year for the Territory Claims with the rest of the Heads in New York, so I had to make an example of one of his men."

"So eager for blood," Valentine said somberly. "While that is your greatest advantage, it is also your undoing. You need to learn to be patient with your prey and let them fall under the illusion of control, before you disperse the dream before their eyes." The older man stood up and placed his hands behind his back as he walked about the room, pausing before a bronze figurine of Kali, the Hindu goddess of time, change, and destruction. "Have you seen your sister's artwork?"

Jonathan arched his eyebrow. "Yes."

"What is your comment on her work so far?" Valentine asked. "Give me an honest opinion on her work."

Jonathan tilted his head. "Her skills are great, and she remains the top of her class. A few of her pieces are on exhibit in the NYU art hall, and a few noticeable artistic figures that have visited have commented that she carries innate talents, which even they are envious of. Her real life skills are spectacular and her attention to detail is phenomenal." Jonathan arched an eyebrow and a seed of suspicion was sparked within the depths f his mind. "Why? Are you going to let her out of her contract early?"

"Heavens, no Jonathan. I wouldn't dream of releasing your sister at such an early point. We have far too much work to do and she is still needed in a number of plans that I have for the both of you." Valentine reached out towards the Kali figurine, adjusting its position on the shelf so that the light from above would catch on the small gemstones that were embedded in the statue. "Raphael is looking for an artist to paint him, someone with high quality skills and has good references to commend them."

Jonathan's face fell into an expression of realization. "And you want to recommend Clarissa to him. Clarissa can paint his likeness on a canvas and distract him while I head out to the warehouse and investigate his property in our search for the Instrument. Raphael will be too preoccupied with the painting, especially with a stranger in his household."

"And your sister is quite exceptional when it comes to distracting others from their tasks," Valentine mused aloud. "I'll send word to your sister about the next step in your plan. In the meantime I want you to keep an eye the progress of our shipment. Ever since that stupid accountant was caught, I've had to halt shipment routes for the cargo for the auction just to waylay the FBI in their search."

"Told you that Malachi was a dud," Jonathan chastised. "I could smell the stench of fear the minute he entered the office. He may be loyal to you, but he's sloppy with disposing his paper trails, and I highly doubt the man has a high pain-threshold. He'll break under the FBI's interrogation."

"Don't question my judgment, Jonathan," Valentine said coldly. "I have reasons for my decisions, and I will not have you speaking back to me in such a way, _boy_."

Jonathan stared at his father and felt the temperature in the air lower to a freezing degree. While Clarissa's rage came in the form of fire and ash, he and his father exerted their anger with ice-cold fury. Jonathan merely shrugged his shoulders and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket, feigning nonchalance as he stared back at the man that had practically raised him to be who he was today.

"Will you at least dispose of the loose end?" Jonathan ventured boldly. He knew he was most likely testing his father's patience, but he knew his father wouldn't be able to anything against. Jonathan had surpassed his father a long time ago in terms of combat and physical strength.

"The FBI will be moving him into witness protection this Thursday, three o'clock in the afternoon," Valentine said in a harsh tone. "See to it that he doesn't make it out of this town."

Jonathan could sense the storm brewing inside him and stood up in one swift motion. The younger man gave a stiff nod in his father's direction before exiting the office with a scowl on his face. Their relationship was a rocky one, chipped away by time. While Jonathan certainly didn't regret his decision to go away with his father, there were moments in life when he wished that he could run a knife through the man. Valentine was anything but lovable; he could be charming, he could be sweet, he could be understanding, but he couldn't love. His heart was carved out of stone and it would take more than an act of god to cause a chip in it.

* * *

**There we go guys. Little bit of insight into our devilishly handsome Jonathan Morgenstern and his relationship with his Valentine. Also the first time I've put dear old daddy Morgenstern in the spotlight.**

**I've said this before and I will continue saying this over and over again - please. REVIEW MY WORK! I need to know that I'm not doing crappola here!**

**-Violentkitsune**


	14. Chapter 14: 'Day-date'

**Here's the next chapter you greedy lot of human beings. Thank's a lot to those that have been following from the start, and have been so patient with _moi._ Also like to thank those who have favorited both the story and myself - arigato to u all. Be kind and review, comment, or whatever the hell you want to do.**

**Check back with the story later u guys - I have a tutorial to go to and A+ to get,**

**\- Violentkitsune**

* * *

**Chapter 14:** **'Day-date'**

_Why? Dear lord in whatever heaven there is, please tell me why the hell I had to make a fool out of myself?_

Our crimson redhead pulled her cheeks down, groaning over her impetuous behavior. When Jace had asked for a 'casual meet-up' as he put it, her heart started racing in her chest, thumping wildly to a rhythm of its own making. She'd acted out without thinking, practically word-vomiting as Simon put it. The redhead leaned against the canvas on the easel, groaning aloud.

"Stupid, stupid redhead," she cursed. "What were you thinking?"

The art class was fairly busy as everyone was working on their portfolios for submission for the next assignment. No one paid attention to the redhead's strange behavior, nor did they care at this time. Clary had already completed her portfolio ahead of time, so she was only here to give feedback on her work. The redhead stood up and left the classroom, striding towards the common room. Clary headed straight for the fridge and pulled out the packet of Pineapple Lumps that Luke had brought over from his trip to New Zealand. The chocolate was a strange combination of what felt like pineapple bubblegum covered in chocolate, yet somehow the two flavors worked together in chaotic harmony, giving her taste-buds a run for their money. She continued chewing away on the chocolates, trying to get rid of the butterflies in her stomach through digestion of unhealthy, delicious foods. Clary began to pace up and down the room, muttering away to herself between bites.

"Just relax, Clary. You can do this. It's not a date, it's just meeting up with a friend." Clary groaned at the panging in her heart. Her mind warned her against continuing any further interactions with the officer, but her heart was set upon the dream of his strong arms wrapped firmly about her waist. "Dammit, just calm down."

Clary looked at her outfit, wondering if perhaps she was a bit under-dressed for her outing with Jace. She wore an oversized blush tee that she'd tucked into the front of her jeans, the back of it dangling just below her butt. She wore black denim cuff jeans that fitted her legs like a glove, with a pair of ocean green tie-dyed Vans to set it off. Her only accessory was her leather messenger bag with all her sketchbooks, her wallet, phone, and more importantly her emergency food rations. If there was one thing that Clary hated most other than her scheming father, it was going places on an empty stomach. The last thing she needed was to have her stomach rumbling.

Speaking of Valentine, Clary reached for the letter she'd received from her father. The paper was folded and creased over from being in her wallet, but she could still make out the faint words that were written on the paper in lilac calligraphy.

_S. holdings are in the Bronx. Visit R. and inquire about the position as portrait painter. Take along whatever you need and convince him to hire you. Set up a date to commence painting and alert J. about it. Time period will lengthen if unsuccessful._

_V._

Inside the envelope were a few letters from the noticeable art figures that had come along to visit her department a while ago, surprised that Valentine had copies of their letters of acknowledgements. Clary reread the last statement multiple times, enraged that her father was using their contract as a means of blackmail. It just went to show how manipulative her father was, and how eager he was to have this deal come to an end. Her hands itched to curl up into a fist and strike at someone, anything, just as a means of releasing all the rage she had rising within her.

_Breathe, Clary_, she could hear Luke say in her head. _Just breathe, and let it all go. Let it go like a big wave crashing down on the sandy shorelines of Hawaii._

Clary felt her stress levels go back down and thanked whatever gods existed on high for giving her such a wonderful step-father. Luke was a placid man, hard to get angry. The man always seemed to be in a state of zen and peace, causing a soothing effect on those around him. Just thinking about Luke and how he use to go through his 'meditation' with her made Clary feel more at peace with herself.

"Fray."

The redhead turned to face a fellow classmate, gulping down the Pineapple Lump in her mouth. "Yes?"

The strawberry blonde curled her hair around her finger and wore a teasing smile on her lips. "There's a hot blonde guy on ground floor eating Reese's Pieces, and a lost puppy on his face. He's asking after you and wants to know about any special deals you have going on at a bathhouse. Not sure if that last part's correct though."

Clary blushed hard and walked back with the girl down to the art department. Sure enough, there was the blonde officer, with his golden hair falling softly around his face. He looked good in a pair of grey slim fit jeans, with a maroon marl sweater over his torso. His golden eyes brightened up at the sight of her and she felt a small flutter in her chest. _Calm down, redhead, calm down._

"Please tell me where I can find a model like him." Clary's classmate whispered before heading back into the classroom. The redhead looked at the cheeky strawberry blonde as she gave a friendly wave to Jace before disappearing into the chaotic room.

"Nice place," Jace commented, looking in from outside the door. "Bit confusing to navigate around here though."

"Oh well, you found this place," Clary said. "I should've given better directions."

"It's fine," Jace said, straightening his body up off the wall. "I like exploring new places. Make's it more of an adventure."

Clary smiled shyly and clasped her hands together. It had been a while since she'd gone out with anyone else other than the boys' Magnus and Simon.

_Just a friend… just a friend. This guy is off-limits in the field of love._ "So… you want to lead the way, oh fearless leader?

Jace smirked and gave a small, dramatic bow, gesturing the student forward. "After you, my lady," he said in a false English voice. "Let's see where the day takes us."

* * *

Jace and Clary had been walking for about an hour so, doing nothing except talk, talk, talk. Clary talked on and on about how she was progressing in her art degree, the passion for her subject evident in her eyes and her body language. She liked how Jace seemed genuinely interested in her own hobbies, asking questions every now and then about what she preferred in her field of media. The same went for Jace as he regaled her with details about his job, exploring the different aspects that he was associated with, and sharing a few stories about people that have called in while on duty. Clary looked at the blonde, staring at him with an awe of wonder and respect. She could see how much it meant to him, this job of his. He didn't treat it some like something that he did out of necessity, and from the sounds of it he certainly didn't abuse the power he had. Once or twice Clary had watched a few officers go off accusing innocent bystanders of being ignorant, bullying people into letting them get ahead in line. It was nice, just talking with him. She didn't have to worry about much, and she felt herself let loose and relax around him.

"Okay, question for you," he said as they stopped off at an ice-cream parlor. "What's your inspiration for doing the subject that you love? What exactly set on the path to art?"

Clary tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully. "My earliest inspiration would have to be my mother, as most daughters would say. My mother was a renowned art lover, and she'd take me to the museum every chance we'd get. It didn't matter to me if they were the same exhibits that I'd seen before. Every time I went, I'd always find something new to look at within a previous painting, and I'd get to look at things in a different light, find new meanings from the painting. Kind of like when you leave an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, then you come back and you start to see where a few more pieces fit in." Clary shrugged her shoulders. "With art, your limit is your imagination, and everything allows you to express your emotions in so many ways. There's no black and white in this field, no yes or no, right and wrong – and I find that quite comforting. I don't have to stick with one or the other. I can just do whatever I feel like without resorting to the expectations set out by others. I don't have to worry about the consequences of the choices I make in regards to my artwork."

The redhead looked at Jace who wore a similar expression of wonder and thoughtfulness. Clary brushed back a stray lock back and started blabbing off. "It might sound nonsensical, so don't be sorry if you don't get where I'm coming from."

"It's not nonsense, " Jace said reassuringly. "It's just that watching you explain everything with such passion – it's really fascinating."

_Is that my cheek burning up?_ Clary thought mentally, shaking her hair out on either side of her face to cover up the pink spreading in her cheeks. "Anyways, being a curator at a museum is my ultimate aspiration at this time. I wouldn't mind selling off my work or doing paintings on the side, but you never hear about ex-uni art students becoming rising stars in the real world." She gazed back up at Jace. "And what about you, Jace? What's the inspiration behind your chosen employment?"

Jace looked up and sighed heavily as they moved up in line. "When my family died, I was taken in by their family friends the Lightwoods. The parents were third generation police detectives, and they'd often take us into work a lot of the time while they were filling out paperwork. I guess you could say that I practically grew up in the Institute." His eyes burned low as he reflected on times gone by. "It was quite a learning experience, seeing the types of people that were in there. More often than not, my foster parents would be in the Bull-pen, interrogating suspects for their cases and getting confessions out of them. I'd look at all those guys, and there was always a thought that was on my mind."

He smirked and looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "While I was a little brat that use to run around and wreak havoc with my siblings, I had a thing for academics. And curiosity would always get the better of me at the Institute. I'd always ask questions about the system, and why people would get arrest for different things. One time, I was looking at the statistics for the amount of arrests over the past few years, staring at the numbers on the screen." He turned to face me, putting his full attention on my body. "Did you know that about thirty percent of the arrests made today are disregarded because officers can't find 'sufficient evidence', or the system them prevents them from placing charges on criminals?"

Clary shook her head. "Never knew that."

"It was worse back when I was younger. I guess you could say that my desire stemmed from the need to kick all the vermin off the streets. I've seen one too many bullies roaming free on the streets, too many guys let free because of the laziness of others, hence the increase in crime rate." Jace let his shoulders droop slightly. "Am I boring you?'

"No,' Clary said firmly. "You're making perfect sense. It's admirable, your desire to keep everyone safe. Hard to see why you haven't snagged a girl yet."

"What makes you think I'm not taken?" Jace said teasingly.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Well, for one, you don't exactly have the steady feel around you. Two is that your phone's not being constantly bombarded with texts, neither are you checking it for any messages as well. Also, no boyfriend would casually go out with a girl they've just met over, what, two weeks ago? Especially without telling their girlfriend about it.

"Maybe she's just really understanding, and isn't such a control freak like other people are in relationships."

"I highly doubt it. With looks like yours, no girl would let you out of their sights." Clary's mind froze as she registered the last statement she made, watching a grin form on the blonde's face. _Dammit – word vomit again!_

The pair finally made it up to the bench where a guy with scruffy orange hair leaned against the bench, wearing the typical pink shirt and cap for Wendy's ice-cream parlor. "What can I get you guys today?" he asked placidly.

"Salted Caramel ice-cream sundae, a hot-dog and…" Jace looked at Clary questioningly. "What are you having?"

"Oh no, I've got mine sorted," Clary said, pulling out her own battered wallet. "I'm going to take the fifteen churro jumbo pack with caramel and chocolate sauce, a large Flake Supashake and a hot-dog to go. Be generous with the caramel and chocolate sauce please because last time I had next to nothing on it."

"Separate or together?"

"Separate."

"Together," Jace interrupted whipping out his card. He looked down at Clary with his golden eyes. "This is me paying you back for letting me stay the night at your—"

"Oh hell no," Clary said, moving in front of Jace to block him from giving his card to the cashier. She started goose-guarding the cashier as she dove in her wallet for her cash, stepping to the side every time she heard Jace try to move around her. "I'm getting my own food, buddy. There's no way I'm having you put me in a debt."

"Clary…" he growled behind her. Without warning Clary felt a pair of hands on her waist as she was lifted off the ground and swung around to the side like a ballerina. Her body went into shock as she felt Jace's hands lift off her sides, the warmth from his fingertips still imprinted on her body. After a few seconds she shook herself out of her stupor and watched as Jace finished pressing his pin number into the eftpos machine, wearing a triumphant smirk on his face.

"I win," he said with a smirk.

Clary felt a tremble pass through her. "I was going to pay for myself, asshat."

"No you weren't," he said. "You were going to try and pay for both of us and you know it."

"Was not," Clary said weakly. She went to go sit down in one of the booths, with Jace following suit and moving in close by her. He placed his elbows on the bench and leaned against his hands, looking at Clary with a soft smile.

"You're a bad liar," he teased. "So, are you an only child, or are there other siblings in the picture?"

"I wish I was an only sibling," Clary groaned underneath her breath. "I have a brother who's a year older than me, Jonathan. If I had to describe the relationship we have it would be more like…" Clary's face turned blank as she searched for the right word, "… polite acquaintances. We weren't exactly close in our younger years, and even less so when our parents split up over a decade ago. Jonathan always seemed to distance himself from me when we were younger, and he never really cared for family get-togethers."

"Your brother sounds like a coward," Jace said bluntly. "No one should ever feel unwanted by their sibling."

"Yeah, well, my brother didn't exactly get the memo when he was younger. He's a lot more like our father in more ways than one. He has the same looks, the same mannerisms as him, the same cruel sense of humor, and above all he just has that self-absorbed air around him." Clary tilted her head and pushed her curls back. "It's quite a shock really. Even though we're related by blood, there no distinguishing features that we have in common. I'm an almost exact carbon copy of my mother, and he's tall, pale blonde, and has black eyes just like our father."

The rugged ginger boy from the till came over to their table with a tray laden with their order, trying to stabilize the ice-cream in his hand and prevent it from falling over.

"That's the Jumbo churros', two hot dogs, a Supashake and a Salted Caramel sundae," he huffed as he handed the waffle cone over to Jace. He set the tray down carefully and looked over at Clary with bated breath. "Enjoy your meal."

"Thank you," Clary said as the boy stumbled back to the cashier. She pulled the paper carton with her Churro's, her eyes lighting up with excitement at the prospect of mini-feast before her. "Praise the churro gods and the Spanish for giving birth to this wonderful creation," she said reverently before taking a churro stick and chomping away on it. She closed her eyes in complete bliss, savoring the succulent sweet fried-dough pastry covered in rivulets of hot caramel and chocolate sauce. She cast her eyes at Jace who was attacking his hot-dog with the intensity of a lion mauling its food. She tried to stifle the giggle that threatened to erupt from her as she watched Jace move with such animation.

"Food will not run away, Jace," she said comfortingly between bites, patting him on the shoulder.

"Easy for you to say," Jace replied back. "You've got three things to eat from."

"Well unlike the stereotype that the media has depicted of women needing to eat nothing but leaves to fit the image of the thin woman, I actually have a stomach that needs to be filled up to the top. I'm not the girl that'll starve herself to death out in public."

Jace's eyes widened and he raised his hands' up high. "Finally, a woman that knows how to eat. From now on, I'm taking you out more often," he promised. He swallowed the mouthful of meat in his mouth and snatched a churro stick out Clary's carton.

"Hey!" Clary moaned, watching the stronger blonde engulf her food. "You need to ask permission first before you go ahead and inhale all my food. Geez. Nah – payback buddy." The redhead picked up his spoon and scooped out some of his sundae before swallowing its contents. "That's actually really nice," she admitted.

Jace stole another churro from her carton and chomped away on the pastry, licking the excess sauce off his tongue. "So your relationship with your brother and father is crap – what about your mother? Is she still in the picture?"

"My mom?" Clary clarified. "I get along real well with her. She's an amazing woman to be around, and if you ever meet her you'd say the same thing. Jocelyn Fray is a woman of class and respect, and she doesn't belittle herself in any way or form like other individuals of my gender. She's quite assertive and stubborn like me, but she's good when it comes to mediating problems. My step-father Luke is pretty bad-ass as well, because he knows how to respect a woman and treats my mother like an equal, rather than someone of lower rank than him like Va- my biological father." Clary mentally slapped herself at her near slip-up as she wolfed another churro down her throat. _You have to be cautious and on guard, girl! Think before you speak._

Jace didn't seem to notice her slip-up thankfully, and he looked at Clary with a serene expression. His eyes were settled someplace on her face and Clary felt her face heat up.

"Do I have a chocolate moustache?" she whined, looking about on the table for a napkin. _Dammit, napkins guys, napkins._

"Keep still," he ordered.

Clary felt her body freeze up as she watched Jace lean towards her, enclosing the space between them. He reached out one hand towards her and gently brushed his thumb slowly along her lower lip, sending shockwaves throughout her body. Did he know the effects that such a simple motion had on her body? Clary struggled to stay still as butterflies flew rampantly within her, and spine-tingling chills ran up along her back and down her arms. He was close enough for her to see the glow in his eyes as he gazed down at her lips. He pulled his thumb back and licked off the chocolate sauce that had been smudged in the corner of her lips, looking into her own green orbs. The world stopped around them and Clary felt a magnetic pull between them. Jace seemed to inch over towards her, his eyes falling back to her lips…

"Bop."

Clary tapped the blonde on the nose with his spoon and scooped up another spoonful of his caramel sundae, the cold thrill cancelling out the fire in her cheeks. Jace's attention returned back to his sundae and a forlorn expression crossed his face momentarily, replaced by a smirk in an instant. "For that, I'm taking this." He reached out and took a hold of her hot-dog, devouring it greedily.

Clary smiled shyly, her mind racing at the speed of light. That was too close a call. The more she started to talk with Jace, the more walls he unknowingly broke down. And the more she started to abandon her rules, making exceptions for the man that was a natural enemy.

_Why is fate so cruel to me? _


	15. Chapter 15: What Now

**15: What Now?**

It's safe to say that the blonde officer was smitten with the art student. This girl was balanced between girly and tomboy, not caring too much about her outward appearance. She had such a vibrant air about her, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. The bonus point was that she knew how to eat, impressing him when she had upsized her order to the largest available.

God knows how much Jace hated girl's didn't eat enough, especially when they were on infuriating crash diets.

Clary walked beside him, slurping away on her Flake Supashake. The young woman was oblivious to his stares as he gazed up and down her form, falling deeper and deeper in… love?

No. Love was too deep a word to say, too full of emotion. Love required you to know the person inside and out, to feel weak in their presence, as if they had an unknown power over you. But it was something that came before love – Jace just didn't know how to describe it. She was unique to all the other girls he'd met throughout his life, so different from all the typical self-absorbed women that paraded themselves about on a silver platter in every-day life. Jace pulled at the neck of his jersey, feeling something stir within his chest.

_Why does she make me feel this way?_

"Okay," Clary started decisively, "if you had to remove one thing from existence – as in that thing was never created, what would it be and why? And it can't be wars because that's an inevitable part of humanity."

Jace rubbed the back of his neck. "One thing from existence, eh? I'd probably get rid of electronic games. X-box, Play-station, Nintendo, Gameboy's – even those game applications on social media sites and I-phones."

Clary's face turned to one of curiosity as she listened to Jace. "Reason?"

"Simple. Everyone consumes too many hours finding pleasure in the digital world that they fail to recognize the things around them. Take my childhood for example. When I was young, Isabelle, Alec and I would always rush off to the park or even down the streets. Pretty much the whole city was our playground. Now-a-day's all kids care about when the next edition of GTA or Black Op's will come out on the x-box. Today's generation is becoming too anti-social with all the improvements in technology distracting them from the real world. Hell, they even have fake digital world's that they 'live' in and they ignore the real things in life."

"That's quite an in-depth answer," Clary said reflectively. "It's a shame how true it is though. At age five I was building forts out of pillows and blankets while kids these days are using tablets for so-called 'educational gaming'."

Jace stretched his arms out in front of him, looking up at the sky between the towering skyscrapers. "What year is this for you at university?" He asked the redhead.

"Third year at university. I took a gap year after high school to go spend a bit of time with my 'dear old father' before coming back to New York."

Jace could sense the sarcasm in her voice as she spat the word 'father' out of her mouth. There was something off about the way she talked about him, as if she would've preferred that he was either dead or rotting in the basement of some unholy prison on earth. Whatever the case, fathers were off the topic table so Jace didn't follow up on that subject. "Okay, first celebrity crush. Honest answer."

"Gerard Butler," Clary said straight away. "Mmhmm, that man was tasty. Started crushing on him in his role of the Phantom in the film adaption of Phantom of the Opera. Even with the ugly aesthetics he was still good-looking, and his voice… wow, that man could sing."

"I'd have thought you would have gone for old Zac Efron or Jonas Brothers," Jace replied.

"I was too busy crushing on Captain Von Trapp and Raoul while the rest of the world started screaming for Justin Bieber. The males of this generation today lack the upstanding education of what it means to be a gentleman."

Jace winced. "Ouch. Shots fired."

She turned her head to the side, wearing a wry smile on her lips. "Although there are a few exceptions," she said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow.

The blonde smiled back in return, steering them out of the path of a group of teenagers. "Crisis averted." They continued on walking, crossing the zebra stripes along the road. "From the sounds of it you must be a big fan of the musicals."

"Only the classics," Clary said with gusto. "Phantom of the Opera has always been my all-time favorite, but I'm partial to Les Miserables."

"How about Wicked?" Jace asked her. "What do you think of that?"

She waved her hand over her heart. "One thing I will share with you is my unethical passion, and that is that I sympathize almost ninety-nine percent of the time with the villains. I always felt sorry for Elphaba – she had such a tragic ending in the no—Ooff!"

Clary fell hard against Jace's ribs. He quickly caught hold of her and steadied them both upright. He felt the same chilling sensation as he wrapped his arms around her small body, relishing in the moment. He steadied her back on her feet, looking at her as a fantastic pink blush spread across her cheeks, making her seem even more beautiful in his eyes.

"Y-y-you can let me up now," she stuttered bashfully. Jace complied and – regrettably, pulled his arms back from her. Clary dusted herself off and checked that she still had all of her belongings on her person. She looked back at their surroundings. They were back at the University, standing across the road from the campus.

"This was fun," Clary said sweetly, looking back at Jace with her mesmerizing green eyes.

Jace felt his heart shrink a fraction. "Is that a hint that you're leaving soon?" he teased. "Am I that annoying to be around?"

"No, no," Clary retorted, holding her hands up in a sign of peace. "It's been great hanging out with you. I haven't had much time to get out that often. Usually it's only if I'm with Simon, Magnus, or family business. But I mentor the first year students in the Social Sciences department, and I've got a few appointments on this afternoon with them."

The blonde felt his heart lift just a fraction. She wasn't leaving him out of choice, but rather because she had other commitments on. This gave him more courage to ask her a question that had been playing on his mind. "What are you doing this Saturday?"

The redhead rubbed her bare arms, her nose crinkling up in annoyance. "Meeting up with my brother. Our father wants us to go see a family friend for him – catch up on the old times, you know?" Jace's heart deflated within his chest. He really wanted to go out again with this enchanting woman, who practically had him in the palm of her hand. "But…" she continued, and a seed of hope began to sprout within our blonde policeman, "… how 'bout you email me just a generic schedule of what you have on next week. Maybe I'll try and slot a time in so we can go out for another hold-out." She held a finger up and pressed it flat against his chest. "But next time, I'm buying. I see so much as a penny come out of that wallet of yours and I will burn all the contents within it."

Jace grinned uncontrollably and he crossed his heart and held his pinkie out towards her. "I solemnly swear not to pull out any money to pay for the food."

Clary smiled and lightly punched the officer's bicep, her eyes glowing with a kind light from within. She quickly rushed across the road, yelling out apologies to the taxi-drivers that shouted out obscenities to the jaywalking redhead.

"And remember—' she shouted over the traffic. "I've got the food next time!"

"And I've got the parking meter!" Jace yelled back, teasing the art student. The redhead slumped over and rolled her eyes at the blonde before waving like a lunatic at the blonde. Jace smirked and hooked both his thumbs into his pocket, making the walk over to his car. He was drunk on joy at the prospect of seeing Clary again. Hopefully it would be sooner before work started to get more demanding.

_I'm craving for you and just like a fool_  
_There's no way I can stop, stop, stop my desire_  
_I'm craving for you and you know it too_  
_There is no one that can top, top, top your smile_

* * *

Isabelle looked around the interior of Club Pandemonium, the decorations of last week's party removed, revealing sleek black walls with simple silver embellishments. Without the grand ardor and the hype of the bodies of the young and drunk filling the club, the atmosphere felt dead and still. Spotlights were paralyzed in place, their beams of light dim in comparison to when they danced about wildly at night. The music that echoed from the speakers was low, the lyrics of Travis Garland wobbling on the airwaves. The bar had been restocked with fresh shipments of alcohol, and there were only a handful of people checking out the venue. There were a few people wearing the standard black uniform for the venue, cleaning up around the place.

Isabelle had been suspicious about the cause of death of the man from the party, and so began to retrace his steps back to the scene prior to his death. Even though there wasn't much in terms of evidence that proved her suspicions, she still wanted to check out the place on her own. If she tried to explain her reasons for her paranoia to the rest of the department at the Institute, only for them to find no evidence or laugh it off in her face, then that would only damage her credibility as an officer. Isabelle had a hunch about this place, an inkling that something had gone down here before he crossed over to the other side of the veil.

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she marched towards the barman in a pair of black suede boots, tightening the sash around her teal green trench jacket with its double set of buttons. As she drew closer she pulled the collar up around her neck and threw a wry, smile on her face. "Hello."

The barman looked up from his duties, wearing a bored expression on his face. His eyebrows shot up at the potential customer before him and he found himself straightening up before her. Isabelle smirked. She had that effect on men. "Afternoon," he said in a light English accent.

"I'm looking to hire out a venue for a bachelorette party sometime in the future," Isabelle explained, gesturing wildly in order to draw his attention elsewhere. "I was wondering if this—" she waved her arms to the dance-floor with all its side booths, "—Is the only feature that the club has? Do you know if you guys have any side-rooms or platforms… something along those lines?"

The guy jerked his chin upwards. "There's a stairwell over in the corner that takes you up to the upper boxes, very private. They can accommodate up to twenty people per box, so you and your friends will be a lot more comfortable up there. Also, since its higher, the noise won't be so deafening and you can carry out conversations without having to shout over everyone."

"What's the going price for hire?" Isabelle asked.

"About fifty bucks an hour per individual. But depending on the number of friends you're bringing in, you can get cheaper discounts for group bookings."

"Fantastic," Isabelle said in a splendid tone, her smile wearing out the muscles in her face. She couldn't understand how people could constantly smile without getting tired from the facial exercise. "Do you mind if I go and have a look up in the boxes? I just really want to get a look at everything before I go ahead and finalize the details with my friend."

"Sure thing," the guy said, gathering the glasses up in his hand. "Just head on up the stairwell and take a look at the rooms."

Isabelle winked at the man and sashayed away from the corner, casting her eyes over to where the makeshift stage had been days ago. Her mind turned fuzzy as she regarded her conversation with the cute bass player. Simon had been an intriguing individual to converse with, and she was quite surprised by how controlled he'd been when they'd witnessed the victim gasp for his last dying breath. She'd admired how he'd stayed behind to deal with the guy rather than run off tail between his legs like a coward.

_Forget him_, her mind rebelled. _You have a theory to prove._

Isabelle ascended the stairwell, visiting each of the platforms that had split off the stairwell. Each of them had the same set up like the rest; a series of leather couches and coffee tables, a booth nestled in the corner, and a T.V screen mounted on the wall. The woman inspected each room, flashing her black-light torch over each of the surfaces. She didn't know what to expect – blood splatters, traces of drugs. Just something to prove to herself that she wasn't crazy. A seed of disgust spread throughout her as she looked at the number of stains on the couches, all which pointed towards discharge from the act of sexual intercourse. She despised people that just dropped all sense of social decorum and practically humped one another in public places, regardless of the fact that they could go wait another hour or so to go finish each-other off at their apartments.

Isabelle continued throughout the rooms until she reached the top platform, stopping to survey the area. The place was the similar in regards to décor, only with a few minor differences. The blue light shining from the bulbs behind the carved walls cast a ghostly blue glow over everything, and in regards to size the platform seemed way smaller in dimensions. The tall woman moved to the edge of the platform, leaning against the metal railing. The view from up top was excellent, displaying the whole of the dance floor, the bar, and even the small booths and tables that were dotted along the walls.

Isabelle heaved a great sigh and slumped uncharacteristically over the railing. What was she doing? She was just getting overworked up over something that had no proof to back it up. She was just getting paranoid over her imagination.

She swung her light around, looking traces of anything that would show up under the light. The young policewoman straightened up and her eyes narrowed.

The place was unnaturally clean in regards to forensic evidence. There were no stains on the leather seats, and surprisingly there was nothing on the floor as well. Isabelle shone the light on the railing to see if there were any fingerprint residue that had been left behind. Surely there would still be something here if people used this booth. There's no way that people could just come up here and leave without laving some sort of residue behind, even if it was just a wad of gum or rubbish. Isabelle crouched down and shone the light to inspect the undersides of the tables. All of it was clean, spick and span. Nothing underneath.

The young woman stood up, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips and passing along her face. She tightened her hold on her black-light torch and swung around, the hem of her trench coat flowing with each movement. Maybe she wasn't as crazy as she thought, her mind contemplated. Isabelle Lightwood walked off down the stairwell, a new plan set in motion. Someone had cleaned up after them, which meant that something had happened that no one else should know about. To confirm her suspicions, Isabelle pulled out her I-phone and swiped through the photos she'd taken of each box. Apart from the last one, the rest all had sex stains and traces of alcohol underneath the leather sofas', with the occasional wad of gum stuck between the cushions.

The dark-haired woman smirked. Maybe her hunches might get her somewhere after all.

* * *

**Lyrics are from V-Factory: Lovestruck (do not own those words)**

**This one was a bit of a hurdle but I got there... *slumped over the finish line drenched in sweat.**


	16. Chapter 16: Saturday Training

**As usual, read and review.**

**ooh side-note; i'm pretty sure there are a number of you that are wondering 'where in heaven and hell did she find the plot for this?' Well later on in some future chapters I'll give u a little bit of background on where my inspiration came from for all those who are desperate to learn my dark secrets.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**16: Saturday Training**

_Left hook, right hook, uppercut, step back then deliver with an elbow to the face._

Jonathan huffed as he snapped a back fist on top of the bridge of his sparring partners nose, hearing the bone break with a satisfying crunch beneath his blow. His partner stumbled back, his eyes blinded by his own blood while another man lashed out from the corner towards him. His opponent snapped out a kick towards his thigh. Jonathan pulled his leg up high and used his shin to absorb the impact and block his attack, moving forward to punch the man deep in his gut. The blonde let out a growl as he felt the man hunch over his fist, grabbing his arm with both hands to prevent him from getting loose. Jonathan snarled like a hungry wolf and used his free hand to push the man down on his rising knee. The man let out a grunt as Jonathan knocked him back up, his head slowly falling backwards. Jonathan stepped back and landed the final blow, consisting of a sidekick that launched him back a few feet onto the ground.

The ivory blonde sighed, arching his arms behind his back and feeling his muscles tense and bulge beneath his skin. The men that his father had provided for him were loyal, but in regards to physical strength and combat abilities, they were lacking. All four of them had gone up against him, some co-operating their attacks while others merely waited for a free-pass. And yet the young bachelor was still completely bored out of his mind. Jonathan needed someone that could withstand a full-blow from him, to handle the impact of his throws. He needed an opponent that could demonstrate a higher level of intelligence than lackeys before him., someone whose level of combat skills could rival his own.

"Take five bastards," Jonathan said pityingly to the men on the ground. He picked up the black towel from his bag and slung it around his neck. His torso was bare beneath the bright lights, with a pair of black track pants hanging low off his hips. In between his shoulder-blades, a tattoo of The elder Morgenstern child strolled off the fighting over to the weapons corner, where his sister was twirling an artfully carved dagger in her fingers. Behind her the speakers echoed the thumping drums within the song _Arsonist's Lullaby_ by Hozier_._

"How many bones did you _not_ break today?" Clary teased emotionlessly, looking at the painted bulls-eye on the wall. The redhead had her hair braided in a loose fish-plait with a few locks escaping from its hold to frame her gentle face. Her outfit consisted of a large baggy Chicago Bull's basketball singlet that hung off her frame around the tips of her thighs, and a pair of compression tights that molded itself to the shape of her legs.

The ivory blonde forced his eyes to stay on his sister's upper half instead of gazing at the sinful curve of her legs. "It's not my fault they can't take a hit," Jonathan replied, wiping off the sweat on his chest. "Did you get father's message?"

"Yes." Clary flung out one hand and launched the dagger towards the target, the blade landing dead center of the red bulls-eye with a resounding thud. Out of the two of them, Clary was the more skilled marksmen, her eyesight far keener than Jonathan's. Jonathan was the better equipped when it came to close-range hand-to-hand combat, with the advantage of height and build factoring into his strengths. "I'm taking charge on the case of Raphael, and I'm to report to you about the finer details and whatnot."

The ivory blonde sibling arched an eyebrow at her tone. There was the faintest trace of joy underlying her usual emotionless tone, one that intrigued the brother of the redhead. "Are you excited?"

"About what?" _Thwunk!_ Another dagger made its mark in the center, joining the company of the first blade.

"Raphael," Jonathan said smoothly, leaning against the pillar as he watched his sister. "The fact that you actually get to use your talents for our father's cause?"

"Hmm? Oh yes of course, absolutely." Jonathan tilted his head as he observed his sister's body language. The petite woman was in an oddly cheerful state; one that he'd never really had the privilege to see before. Being apart from her for a number of years had deprived him the chance to really understand his sister's way of thinking. When they'd been reunited three years ago, he'd been surprised at the young woman that had shown up for dinner that evening. He couldn't – and still can't, believe that the fiery redheaded beauty was the staunch, petulant crybaby that he remembered from his early childhood years.

And in some ways he still didn't want to believe it.

"Really?" He questioned. If there was one thing that he knew with absolutely assurance, it was that his sister never expressed any degrees of joy when it came to doing Valentine's work. "What about?"

"Oh, you know, actually being able to use my talents for once without you or Valentine scrunching your nose up like its overdue trash." Clary turned to face Jonathan and threw the blade into the board without so much as a backward glance. "Glad to see that you guys are finally letting me be of use as something other than the mouthpiece or the knife."

The older sibling chuckled and ruffled her hair in a childish manner. "Oh, Clarissa. When will you finally see that those skills are far more better than that which you are trying to foster and develop now?" He turned the redhead around to face the bulls-eye and pointed out to the daggers embedded in the wall. The last one that she'd thrown on the wall was embedded in the base of the last knife, stuck fast in the handle. "Look at what you've just done, and you did it without so much as a blink. You have a better accuracy than I, and you weren't even trying to hit the target. Isn't that better than your 'art degree'?"

Clary pushed his hand odd her shoulder and marched over to the weapons display. She picked up a long Bo staff, twirling it in her hands. "I'll admit," she said in a hushed tone, "-that I do enjoy letting off a little steam every now and then. But that doesn't necessarily mean that I want to do it as a full-time job. Neither does it mean that I want to continue a life built upon blood."

Jonathan threw back his head and laughed. "Oh sister mine, you're so naïve." He straightened up and smirked at the woman. He turned around and began to walk back the mat, boredom taking over him. His men were still recuperating in the corner of the makeshift gym that had been set-up on Morgenstern property. "Is there no one that can challenge me?" He ordered from the men slumped in the corner. All of them cringed beneath his dark gaze, feeling a shockwave of fear rise above them. Jonathan's eyes narrowed in annoyance and he threw his towel in the general direction of his bag, frowning at how cowardly his lackey's were.

"Pathetic," he spat out. "And Valentine told me that you were his best guys. What a joke."

"I'll fight you."

The tall blonde swiveled his head to the side, feeling Clary's nails prick the skin between his shoulder blades. A fleeting moment of surprise registered upon his handsome face. _Did I really just hear that?_ "Are you challenging your beloved brother, Clarissa?"

"Absolutely," Clary answered confidently, removing her talons from his back. Jonathan turned around and retreated a few steps, looking at the calm collected expression on his sister's face. Her lips fell into a small pout as she teased him. "Unless you're not willing to fight your beloved sister, big brother."

Dark eyes glowered at her petite form, and Jonathan felt his lips rise up into a triumphant snarl. This was the first time that his sister had, of her own free will, chosen to spar off against him. He parted his lips to reveal his teeth, running his tongue over his canines. He was actually going to have _fun_ with his sister. "Do you think you really have what it takes to face me, sweet sister? You didn't exactly receive the same training as I."

"Good." Clary fell forward into a fighting stance, her own bloodthirsty smirk gracing her lips. "Maybe you'll learn a few new tricks. Heaven knows how much you need it."

* * *

Clary didn't know what it was that made her feel bold, that provoked her into taunting Jonathan into a fight. Maybe it was the high that she was still on after her outing with Jace. Maybe it was because she'd agreed to see him again. Maybe it was the way he'd looked at her with those glowing eyes that were reminiscent of the sun in all its morning glory. Maybe it was the way he'd held her in his arms, the encompassing warmth she'd felt from him. Maybe it was the fact that she mentally promised herself that she would go out again with the golden-haired policeman.

Or it could be from the extra shots of caramel she'd added to her usual dose of hot chocolate today.

Whatever the case, Clary felt especially eager today. She'd even agreed to take on Jonathan, the Knight of Hell as others had whispered in the night. Her brother was satanic in his fights; the evidence was blatantly obvious in the broken noses and bruised limbs of his lackey's. Normally she wouldn't interfere with his training regime, but she wanted to test herself. It had been a while since she'd had a match with someone, and she wanted to see how the difference in skills between herself and Jonathan varied.

The redhead stared at her brother, glancing at his form. His upper torso had a chiseled shape to it, and his muscles were lean but definitive in form. Clary had to be careful with her attacks – her brother was never one to take any fight lightly, whether it was a sparring match or one to the death. She needed to treat this as if her life was on the line. There was no room to hold back in this fight.

_Put on your war paint_

_You are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down_

_Strike a match and I'll burn you to the ground_

_We are the jack-o-lanterns in July_

_Setting fire to the sky_

_He-here comes the rising tide_

_So come on_

_Put on your war paint_

The tall blonde launched an attack on her, running head on towards her. Clary mirrored his movements, rushing towards him with such impressive speed. At the last moment, Clary fell limp and slid beneath the arch of his kick on her knees, spinning around and delivering a kick to the back of his shins. Jonathan let out a howl and rolled forward into a crouch, looking back over his shoulder at Clary. His eyes were wide open and Clary could see glints of red flames rising in the pool of shadows. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, causing Clary's energy levels to swell and a devious grin to form on her face. Jonathan spun low on the ground and swept his leg out, forcing Clary on the defensive. Clary flipped back and stood tall, holding her fists out before her. As Jonathan stood up, Clary moved forward and feinted an attack to the head, waiting for Jonathan to raise his arm to block before twisting about and smashing her elbow into his exposed ribs.

"Fuck," Jonathan hissed. Clary grinned and drove the bottom of her wrist upwards towards his chin—

The redhead froze up as Jonathan stretched his hand out and grabbed her arm. With his other hand he pulled on her hair, bringing her head back down to the ground at a fast pace. Clary's body slammed against the ground, her head spinning in confusion. Two images of her brother towered and stood over her form, bending down to look at her condescendingly.

"You need more work Clarissa," they sneered. Clary tried to roll out from under but his legs kept her trapped underneath him. The redhead growled and flicked both legs up in a scissor kick, effectively assaulting his groin. Jonathan's eyes began to water and his body became stiff, giving Clary the leverage to sweep a leg out from under him and roll back onto the balls of her feet in a low crouch. The daughter of Valentine smiled darkly, a surge of sadistic pleasure running through her.

"What's the matter Jonathan?" She said in a sickly sweet tone. "Do you have a booboo?"

The blonde coughed and wiped his mouth. "I'm just getting started," he growled. With blinding speed Jonathan rushed towards her like a bullet and knocked the wind out of her lungs. Clary gasped and was thrown back by Jonathan, slamming her back up against the stone pillar. He braced the length of his arm against her throat and pushed her up off the ground, a wild light in his eyes. Clary's eyes bulged out from their sockets as she fought for air. "See where cockiness gets you Clarissa?"

_Cross walks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies_

_Silver clouds with grey linings_

_So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked_

_One maniac at a time we will take it back_

_You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start_

_So dance alone to the beat of your heart_

Clary abandoned her attempts to pull his arm from her neck and reached up as high as she could. Her hands grasped the protruding metal pole that stuck out a few inches from the concrete pillar, often used to hang heavy sandbags for punching bags. Once Clary grabbed a hold of it, she used whatever strength she had to pull herself out of Jonathan's grasp, loosening the pressure on her throat. In return she quickly pulled both knees up high and fast, knocking his arm off her. The minute his arm broke contact with her skin Clary braced her legs against the pillar and pushed off against them, flicking out a kick to the face. Jonathan stumbled back, allowing Clary the time to fall back onto the ground and gain her bearings. She stayed low and shot out a series of punches. Jonathan blocked them with complete ease, but she could see that her blows were starting to take affect. Jonathan may be the better combat fighter, and he may have the advantage over her, but Clary was more flexible and agile in her movements. She ducked below each attack he threw her way, twirling out of his path with the finesse of a red fox. The tall blonde shot forth a front kick, catching Clary in the guts and forcing her back onto the defensive.

_Hey young blood_

_Doesn't it feel like our time is running out?_

_I'm gonna change you like a remix_

_Then I'll raise you like a phoenix_

_You're wearing our vintage misery_

_No, I think it looked a little better on me_

_I'm gonna change you like a remix_

_Then I'll raise you like a phoenix_

The lackeys offside watched in awe at the match between the siblings. They could see the obvious fighting styles that each one had, and watched the delivery of their attacks. No energy was wasted – everything was precise, carefully calculated to target certain weak spots on the body. The young woman had been a surprise to them especially when they heard her volunteer to go up against Jonathan. Valentine's firstborn was a monster on the field of battle, exerting an insurmountable force that could not be rivaled. Not much was known about Valentine's daughter other than that she was a formidable opponent, and just as intimidating as the rest of the Morgenstern's. Seeing first-hand the damage that she could administer to Jonathan, they had an inkling of understanding of just how dangerous Clarissa Morgenstern could be. Even though she had the appearance of a beautiful, innocent woman, they could see that she had just as much power as a Morgenstern, watching her attack with as much force as an active volcano.

Finally, the siblings reached an end to their fight. Clary had used the pillars to boost her up onto her brothers back, positioning her hands in a dangerous hold that would grant her the ability to snap her brother's neck and end his life.

Clary felt Jonathan freeze beneath her, his body stiffening at the severity of the situation. "I win," she whispered in his ear, feeling a shudder run through him. Satisfaction reigned supreme in her body as he relaxed his body and tapped her hand as their signature sign for surrender. Clary loosened her legs that she'd wrapped around his waist and slid off his back, retreating a few steps from her brother.

Jonathan turned to face her and stared down at her petite form, his eyes still blinded by that crazed wildfire glint in his eyes. A spark had been ignited within that refused to go out. He'd felt the bloodlust in his sister during their fight, seeing the same flames reflected back in her eyes. It was the first time she'd ever fully gone all out on him, giving into the rage within her.

And he basked in her aura, bathing himself in the dark glory that she possessed.

Clary redid her hairdo and tied up the mass of crimson curls into a ponytail, staring at Jonathan with a victorious smirk. She hated to admit it, but she'd enjoyed their sparring session, relishing in the power that she had over her brother at the last moment. "How's your ego there, brother?" She teased mercilessly, walking over to the weapons corner to retrieve her gym bag. "Are you still bored out of your mind?"

Jonathan let a dark smile grace his lips. "On the contrary," he said lowly. "I feel complete."

* * *

**This chapter was more about seeing how bad-ass Clary can be when she gives into the ****dark side (*teehee), as well as seeing how much more... susceptible I guess or how much more relaxed she feels after spending time with Jace. The side-effects of her hanging out with him is that she doesn't feel so hostile with dear old Jonathan (drooling inside)**

**-Violentkitsune**


	17. Chapter 17: Audience with the Viper

**17: Audience with the Viper**

Night fell across the skies, a trail of shadows and diamonds blazing across the skies. The city lights brightened in the ever-growing darkness, shining bright like neon fireflies.

A tall, slim figure stood by the window in his study, watching several cars roll up and drive away within the past hour. Some of them were simple taxi-cabs that carried individuals that were shaking in their clothes, others were well-dressed people with fancy sport-cars escorting them to the doors of the building.

A young woman with oriental features knocked on the door of his study to alert her presence. "Santiago, your guests have arrived."

The man with skin like golden honey turned away from the window, letting the thick velvet curtains drape back over the glass. Dark black curls danced along the scalp of his head, with dark brown eyes glittering mercilessly in the dark. The dark blue collar of his under shirt was propped open partially to reveal the hollows beneath his collarbones. Raphael Santiago, the Head of the Sanguine Clan, was a man in his late twenties with all the allure of a panther, the looks and air of a teenaged movie star, and the conniving tongue of a demon. The man raked his hair through the shadow of girls along his head and smiled crookedly.

"Good. Bring them into the hall."

* * *

The entire apartment building had been brought and claimed by the Sanguine Gang, renovated and constructed into their haven, a temporary crossroads of sorts. The entire interior of the building had been knocked down and rebuilt into four main levels, with the top floor serving as the Tower for all their 'business'. Raphael liked to look at everything that he'd built on these foundations and see it as a safe haven. But the rest of the crew and castaway's that came in had nicknamed it (to his annoyance) the Hotel Dumort - Hotel 'Of death'. Raphael would always shake his head at their nicknames for the haven.

I mean, yes the place had the odd blood splatter here and there, and you could hear a few cries from the poor unfortunate souls that tried taking on and betraying the Sanguine gang in the basement, but still. Raphael liked to keep majority of his guests as comfortable as possible.

The Sanguine Head descended down the stairwell with his second in command Lily following after him. The oriental woman was dressed in a plain black halter dress with a deep v, her skirt flaring out around her knees. The gold piercings she wore in her ears stood out against her pale skin, giving her the appearance of a watered-down Goth, with a subtle allure to her presence. Tonight's guests were gathered in the dining hall on the ground floor, seated at a long mahogany table with a long red silk runner down the center, and candelabra's set up at regular intervals, with red and purple candles set in them. There were a total of twelve chairs lined up around the table, one at either end and five lines up adjacent to one another.

Ten of the twelve seats had been taken up by a number of prospective artists', each one coming from different backgrounds in art. Some were more successive artists that had heard about the opportunity from word of mouth. Others heard about this opportunity from the back channels of New York society and saw this as a chance to get into the goods books of someone that was highly influential – especially if they were the head of a bloodthirsty gang.

Raphael eyed the prospective art experts as he passed through the room like corporeal smoke, his guards fanning out behind him and standing watch by the door. The guest themselves seemed to range from all the different classes within society. Some looked like they'd just come in off the street, others were more formal, dressed in garments that Raphael recognized as the works of Versace, American Apparel, and other expensive clothing lines. Some were too young to be considered, others were well past their 'used by date'. Some chugged the red wine in their glasses as if their life depended on it, while some meticulously eyed their surroundings, as if it were aesthetically unpleasing to look at. One of them was even too busy scribbling away on a book of some kind.

The Sanguine Head stood at the head of the table, brandishing a brilliant smile with his pearly white teeth. "Greetings, honored guests, and welcomed to my humble abode," he said with a slight bow. "I hope that everyone has enjoyed the refreshments that were set out earlier." A murmur of agreements echoed in the air before silence dispersed over them again. "As many of you know, I am looking for a someone with a certain skillset, one that can fulfill the vision which I have set in mind for myself. Many of you have sent in applications and have traveled many miles to hear out my response."

"About that," an older man spoke out. "From the letter I received from you, I was under the impression that I'd been given the position. Do you have any idea how far I've traveled? And then I come here just to find out that I haven't been accepted and that there are my competitors here as well."

"Please bear with me Timothy," Raphael answered in a diplomatic tone. "Lily, if you will."

The Goth girl came forth with a number of envelopes on a silver plate, each of them imprinted with names and stamps from all over the state. Everyone watched as the plate was settled before Raphael, his eyes gleaming from the candlelight.

"These are the resume's that each of you have sent in," Raphael said pointedly. He flicked out a lighter from his breast pocket and held the flame to the paperwork. The pile flickered into a raging bonfire of red and gold that blinded everyone within the room. A cry of outrage emerged from those sitting as they watched the collection of their work go up in flames.

"I spent hours working on my resume!" an older woman shouted out, standing up from her seat. "What the hell gives you the right to go ahead and light it up?"

"Dear, I don't care about what the paper says," Raphael said steely. "I don't care if your work has been featured several times in the Guggenheim or the Smithsonian, or if the goddamn Queen herself praised your work on national television. No matter how amazing someone says about you, that doesn't matter. Their opinion is irrelevant in my decision to choose who works for me."

A shadow crossed over the faces of those that cried out against him, chilling them to the bone. It was as if a cold hand had grasped ahold of their throats, cutting off their oxygen supply into the body. One by one they sat back down in their seats, tempering their anger and confusion with the need to make sense of the situation in order to get the job– _get the job, get the money._

Raphael straightened up and glared at the ashes of the resumes before him. Lily began placing thick sheets of sketch paper in front of each seated individual, along with a graphite pencil. "In next ten minutes, you will each draw something that is worthy of my attention. My men—" he gestured to the bodyguards spread throughout the room, "—will gather up the sketches at the end of the timeframe and bring them up to my study. I'll call each of you one by one to discuss the outcomes of your work. The one which I deem the most pleasing to my eyes will receive the position as Raphael's Artist."

Everyone stared at the young man shrewdly, their minds boggled by the conditions that were set out before them.

"Question."

Raphael's dark eyes traveled to the form of a petite redhead, the one that had been scribbling away on her notepad. Surprisingly, she was the only that had remained calm throughout the entirety of his speech, keeping quiet while everyone else complained about the conditions of their interview.

"Yes?" he said curiously.

"Are there limitations to what we want to use for our choice of media?' she inquired, brushing her hair out of her face. She had a nice simple hunter green chiffon skater dress, with long sleeves and a black waistcoat over the top. The woman held the pencil that had been provided for her in front and twirled it between her fingers like a tiny baton. "For example, am I only allowed to use what I've been given?"

"Of course not," Raphael replied. "You may use whatever has been provided for you, as well as whatever else you may find useful within the contents of this room."

"What if I want to leave?" A ginger-haired man spoke out. "I'm not comfortable with the way that this is going."

"Then you are free to leave at anytime you want," Raphael said smoothly. The dark-skinned man held out his palms and gestured openly to those around him. "Your time starts now."

* * *

"This is bloody ridiculous. My works have been featured in the halls of the Duke of Wellington's manor, and yet I'm reduced to … finger-painting like a child!"

"I've been working on reztoration projectz and zis is how I'm to ooze my skillz? _Merde_!"

Clary rolled her eyes as she eyed up the empty canvas in her hands. All these acclaimed artists, crying out like spoilt brats after spilt milk. _What difference does it make if your credentials are burned up? It's not like your whole life's work was burned away. _The young redhead pulled a strand over her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at the canvas. If she wanted to get the position, she had to do something different than what these folks were doing. Everyone was making use of the pencils given to them, moving about the room to get a good angle on the objects they were drawing. Clary could already see that these people had good talent, evident in their artistic take on that around them. Each individual had their own style of artistic expression, their own personality inked out onto the page. Some were far heavier with their shading, while others liked to overlap their lines multiple times.

The redhead looked around her. There was a half-full wine glass to her left, the liquid sparkling in the glow of the candlelight. The young art student and manipulative mastermind smirked as she dabbed her fingers into her glass. She flicked the droplets onto the paper and watched it spread through the paper in a crooked fashion. She repeated it a few times before using her finger to draw out the mini pools of wine, her fingers acting as a poor stand-in for a paintbrush. With her pencil, she carefully traced around them and linked them up together, her hands gaining momentum as an idea began to take place. Clary wasn't as conventional as most people when it came to art; during her youth she used up her art supplies like oxygen and her mother was forced to put a limit on the amount of supplies she'd buy for her daughter. Whenever Clary ran out of paint, chalk, or dye, her mother would refuse to buy anything till the next month and lock her daughter out of her private studio. As a result, Clary had gained the skill of using whatever means she had for her art, from spices to smudge into the paper, to colored drinks and even melting ice-blocks and ice-cream for paint and dye.

Others began to catch on to Clary's tricks and copied her moves, albeit doing so without control and in a far more sloppy fashion. Others stayed to their more conventional methods, casting a glance of envy and disdain back at the redhead every now and then.

The young woman pulled back from her work to get a full look at it. She'd drawn the outlines of a young man wearing casual clothes and leaning penitently against a balcony. Behind him, she'd used the wine to illustrate large wings of rich burgundy red, the stray feathers dangling crookedly behind him. His eyes were downcast but his face was full of light-heartedness. In his hand outstretched towards the moon was a rose, deepening to a brilliant red from the center to a light pink tinge around it. She'd used the pencil to add in some depth to the image, shading in a few areas to highlight the shadows across his wings and his body. Clary felt proud of her work; it might not be enough but it would definitely get ahold of Raphael's attention.

"Time! Everyone put down your hands and hold them up."

The guests groaned as they slammed down their pencils on the tables, annoyed that they weren't able to complete their drawings. Those who'd copied Clary stared at her murderously, a telltale sign that the fruits of their labors didn't not come out as expected. Clary remained smug as she placed her work down and sipped from her wine glass.

* * *

Raphael was disappointed.

All the work that he'd looked at so far were mediocre, mundane sketches of inanimate objects. Not a single person had put in the effort and energy during their work. This was just a game to them – none of them seemed to put any serious thought into what they were doing. He sensed no emotion or drive from any of the sketches. Sure, they were under a time limit, but the man had hoped that they would at least _try_.

"Hn, and they came so highly recommended," he whispered in a lofty tone.

His eidetic/photographic memory allowed him to recall all the things written on the resumes, giving him the option of erasing all the troublesome paperwork from his study. It was a handy thing to have in Raphael's line of work, especially since he dealt with a lot of cases that weren't necessarily sanctioned by public law. The Sanguine Head cast his eyes across the artwork and spotted something in particular that caught his fancy.

He held the paper in his hands and glanced across each and every detail drawn into the paper. Wings of burgundy that smelt like his prized red wine; a soft rose with pale pink petals descending on a phantom wind. He could sense loneliness inked into the page - a desire to be whole, to be wanted, to be part of a two.

_Yes,_ he thought happily. _This is something I can work with. Here is someone who has the ability to transfer their emotions and to paint a story with their hands._

He turned the page over and saw the initials _C.F_ inscribed onto the left-hand corner, with a trio of stars arching over it. Raphael ransacked his memories and found the name to match the initials.

_He turned over the black folder and found only two sheets inside the binder, plain and simple. One was a small passport photo of a young woman with red hair and green eyes, while the other had a few words printed on it. Raphael thought it was a joke – surely there was more to this file than what was there before him. His eyes skipped the standard introductory comments and went straight to the personal remarks section._

**_Personal Remarks:_**

**_By now you will have grown tired from reading over other people's resume's, reading how they're 'great individuals', and how they're so 'co-operative and sensitive to the needs of the muse'. Admit it – you're bored by the standard layout's, and you have no interest in them whatsoever. They've probably added their own printed examples of works that they've exhibited all around the world, plus copious amounts of recommendation letters that they probably had to beg for from the rich and wealthy. I can assure you that you won't find much in this resume. _**

**_I've come across many jobs such as this in my lifetime, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the muse never want the same thing. Everyone has different tastes in food and culture, therefore the concept should also apply to art. An individual such as yourself may appreciate one thing but find that something else isn't as refined as they say it is. Recommendations can only get one so far, and even then they may have a different view on the individual at hand._**

**_This may be risky on my part, but I'm sure that you'll appreciate a new approach to this job. As such I'd like to offer you something; if by some mere chance you show interest, bring me in and I will show you firsthand the array of skills I've acquired in the field. I will show you in person the touch of the master's hand at work._**

Raphael smirked at the memory. The girl had been bold and daring on paper, going against the norm to stand out from amongst the many applicants. Raphael tapped away on the desk, his mind lost in thought. He looked down on the sketch and a wry smile worked its way onto his face.

"Clarissa Fairchild," he said thoughtfully, tracing the outlines of the wine-stained wings. "What else can you give me with your gifts?"

* * *

**You have _noooooo_ idea how hard this chapter was! I was caught between doing one on one and a flash dinner reservation at a top notch restaurant. But I did it guys! I did it! And it was so bloody hard too.**

**Now if you're curious about why I went with 'Fairchild' instead of 'Morgenstern', message me and i'll give you an answer. I'd write it out here, but then that would be a bit of a spoiler alert.**

**Now as per usual, review, comment, critique - I apologise of any grammatical errors that are in here. Looked through the last chapter and saw that I'd left an incomplete sentence in there and you guy's ****didn't even pull me up about it XD**

**-Violentkitsune**


	18. Chapter 18: Research

_**Here we go guys, next chapter is up.**_

_**I just gotta say this, I'm really loving the reviews and feedback that I'm getting back from you guys. Get's me really motivated so to speak, especially since I'm running on fumes during this semester break. You'd think that with all this free-time that I'd have added a few more chapters, right? Unfortunately, I think I'm more of the 'thrive-under-pressure' kind of gal. That and I keep having lightbulb ideas for further down the timeline of this story but I still need to build the bridge before we can cross-over into the fun stuff.**_

**_If you guys have any ideas for future chapters, PM me and i'll try and incorporate some of your stuff into the story. _**

**_Also, if you have questions about why I did this or that, again PM me and i'll give you the spoilers (BUT YOU CAN"T TELL ANYONE! OTHERWISE YOU"LL BE EXILED INTO THE DEEP DARK ABYSS OF THE INTERNET! YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE DARK, WEIRD CORNERS OF THAT WORLD!)_**

**_Enjoy, and don't forget to review! :D_**

**-Violentkitsune**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Research**

Lunchtime rolled around and a number of the workers within the Institute headed out for lunch break, attacking the local deli stores around the block and hotdog stands. The kitchen was overrun with impatient detectives that tapped their toes against the floor as they waited in line for the coffee machine. Others scattered themselves and searched for the few vending machines that were set up around the place or hunted about in their cars for their lunch packs.

Alec Lightwood calmly bypassed the staffroom, his attention focused on a file in his hand. The dark-haired officer strolled down the halls, ignorant of the stares from those around him. Alec was a single-minded man, always focused on the matter at hand. He was never one to stray from a task set before him, and he made it a habit of going through with things till the end. He was the guiding hand out of his trio - while Jace and Isabelle were dedicated individuals, they sometimes went off track and eventually ended up doing something totally different. Alec was the one that brought the two back in line and straightened them out, ensuring that their heads were 'screwed on right' as he liked to call it.

The older Lightwood sibling pushed through the doors leading down to the gun cage with an expectant look on his face. He knew by now that come every Monday lunch-break, just after they've finished morning rotation, his brother would be down in the armory cleaning up his weaponry. The blonde was an OCD and as such he would spend a good hour cleaning up his equipment, from the two standard issued handguns they were given on their first day of duty, to the bullet cartridges issued alongside the firearms.

Alec entered the brightly lit cage and set his eyes upon his adopted brother. Jace was heavily scrubbing away at the base of his gun, his eyes heavily concentrated on the task at hand. The blonde had his bangs clipped back, and was clad in the black t-shirt he wore beneath his police shirt.

Jace looked up from his task at Alec as he sauntered into the cage. "Alec, fancy seeing you here."

"Please, like you didn't know I'd find you here," the blue-eyed man replied sarcastically. Alec closed the wire door behind him and dropped the file onto the counter. "Application forms for detective status. Penhallow has already filled in the referral forms, so all we have to do is fill in the personal details and she'll send them away."

"That's great," Jace said genuinely. "What's the update on the Trials?"

"Well both yours and my group made it into the top, no surprise there," Alec said superciliously, raking his fingers through his hair. "Although your lot barely made it in comparison to the other group. If it weren't for the impression you made on Kyle, your group would've been dismissed from the trials, regardless of what the Commissioner promised us."

"Thanks for being _so _gentle Alec," Jace mocked. "Could you be anymore candid about my group?"

"Nope – it helps to deflate that oversized ego of yours."

The blonde rolled his eyes and slipped the gun into the holster before hanging it up on the rack. He wiped his hands with a grease rag and threw in a basket in the corner.

"Done already?" Alec observed skeptically, holding the cage door open. "What, no blanket for the babies?"

"Shut up" Jace said moodily with a pout. "I do not fuss over these things."

"Sure sure," Alec said with a wink, locking up after the blonde. The pair headed back to the ground floor of the building, with Jace flipping through the file.

"Did you hear from Isabelle?" Alec asked seriously in a low undertone.

"Yeah, kinda weird don't you think?" Jace questioned as he settled down into the chair behind his desk. He pulled the headband off his head and shoved it into the draw, his blonde halo falling back in across his face. "No physical evidence of any kind, not even a fingerprint. And I'm surprised that there was no gum as well. People always leave gum behind for someone else to come along and eat."

"Is that why you were always chewing in class back at high school?" Alec said cheekily, his eyes alight with mischief

"You're evil," Jace pouted.

Alec pulled up his own chair at his desk and sat down on it, bracing his hand beneath his chin. It was a definite surprise; cleaners couldn't clean up as well as that. Even if someone used a professional cleaning product and scrubbed every speck of dirt from sight, there were always flaws that were hidden from plain sight.

"I think we should get a warrant to go in and investigate," Jace said lowly, a solemn expression crossing over his face.

The dark-haired man shook his head. 'Too early. If we go in and just ask for a warrant based on theories then Penhallow will just ridicule us and say that we're just chasing after ghosts. Besides, the case has already been closed and everyone will think we're trying to show off."

"Aw, come on man," Jace said defiantly. "You know we can't wait any longer, man. If we do, then this case will just get colder and whoever did kill the guy, even though he probably did us a favor getting rid of scum like him – will be walking around thinking they're above the law because of this one incident."

Alec turned his gaze to his brother. The blonde was quite adamant about following up on this particular case, even if there were nothing but assumptions to go on. The dark-haired officer sighed. Knowing his luck, if they didn't do something soon, then eventually the blonde will go ahead and do something stupid that would get them all in trouble.

"Fill out your forms, alright," Alec commanded, standing up and straightening out his shirt. "I'm going to go make a call and see if we can't speed things up a bit."

* * *

"Sorry dearie, but I have a handful of things to attend to for this month. If you want, we can meet up sometime this Friday to discuss the finer details – see if we can't smooth things over. Does lunch at _La Sirene_ sound good? It's a nice little restaurant and the food is exquisite. One o'clock sharp? Good – I look forward to meeting up with you madam. Ciao."

Magnus Bane tapped the screen on his phone and sighed in an exasperated tone. Being well off both financially and socially had its perks, but there were some things that had Magnus at his wits ends. He was highly influential in the social world, both with the politicians and other well-off socialites around the world. Many people sought out his services and his support – in the eyes of the public, whatever Magnus did, they should do as well.

The biracial socialite rubbed the back of his neck as he moved about in his apartment. The place looked like the en-suite of a maharaja; Cambodian silk cloth's hung along the warm golden walls, and the curtains were hand-stitched with patterns fashioned into tapestries of otherworldly beings. Magnus padded across his Persian rug in bare-feet, his torso shirtless with a bright orange and gold lava lava knotted securely around his waist. He had a lean, definitive form that was often the focus of many art student's deepest fantasies in the Real life class he modelled for, and a tasty treat for many a man or woman that had the pleasure of being Magnus's company for more than just 'business'. He threaded his fingers through his hair and gazed at his reflection in a passing mirror.

_Hmm, maybe a few highlights next time I head to the salon,_ he mused. _Bit of blue and purple here and there._

Magnus waltzed over to the leather couch and settled down in the corner almost lazily, pulling the I-pad into his lap. The light in the corner was blinking rapidly like a lighthouse, and the socialite tapped the screen to life. He read over the message sent to him by Ragnor, an old associate from their years in Oxford and a seemingly reluctant friend (in Ragnor's eyes that is).

_I've sent over the Gongfu tea set like you wanted. Still don't see why you want that old thing in the first place, it's practically chipped away. Anyways, it'll be over in your place within a week – you know how it is shipping overseas. Prices are ridiculous. Not everyone is as rich as you Bane._

_The Oxford lot is still shaken up by that whole ordeal from last year, but Branwell's looking after them. And I've been handling Woolsey's branch over here, so everything's running smoothly. Don't start sending a billion and one letters telling me what to do! Despite the somewhat unintelligent things i've done in the past - which were few might I say, I'm not an idiot._

_I'll be over there to visit for next month's auction. Till then, don't call me unless you're on the brink of bankruptcy, or you have a **Phocoena sinus** to give to me._

The golden-skinned man smirked at the message. Ragnor was a conservationist and a well-known one at that. He was a trusted friend of Magnus's during his years in London, so much that despite the scientist's outbursts, they even went to Peru together for a holiday.

Magnus leaned backwards, letting his head flop on the back of the couch. A close friend of Magnus had died the previous year in a shooting gone wrong, and everyone he knew had been broken up by the result of it. Everyone back in London was doing fine for now, slowly on the road to recovery from the accident that happened last year. He massaged his scalp and heaved a heavy sigh. Maybe he should schedule a trip over there, just to see how everyone is doing for old times sake.

"Mrrreow."

Magnus looked down as his beloved Siberian cat Chairman Meow padded across

His bare chest and curled up on his shoulder, tapping his face with a soft paw. The fluffy silver and bluish gray cat was a treasured member of Magnus's nonexistent family, and he cherished the little ball of fur above most of his belongings in his apartment. Chairman Meow nuzzled his cheek and tapped against his skin with it's tiny paws.

"What do you want, your eminence?" Magnus said pleasantly, running his fingers through its fur. "Hungry? Tired? Or are you just trying to hog my attention?"

**_I'm gonna marry the night_**

**_I'm not gonna cry anymore!_**

**_I'm gonna marry the night!_**

**_Leave nothing on these streets to explore_**

Magnus grabbed his phone and slid the screen across to see the caller I.D. while his cat slid down onto his chest and made itself at home. The name 'Blue Eyed Angel' blinked on the screen above the photo of a young man with beautiful features and sparkling eyes. The socialite grinned as he answered the call.

"Magnus the great and powerful, how may I offer you my services?" he said in a dominant, seductive voice.

"Uh, i-it's Alec here," a shy voice answered on the end. Magnus smiled at the bashful boy's mannerisms and suppressed the giggles that threatened to echo down the phone-line. he liked teasing this young man, watching his reactions unfold like a traffic light.

"Ah, Alexander," Magnus said smoothly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I-I just wanted to ask – actually I'm working – dammit!" Magnus heard Alec pull away from the phone and yell out 'can't even do this right'.

"Alexander just calm down, "Magnus said through the phone. "What do you need?"

"Okay, I don't mean to p-pry," Alec stuttered. The young man coughed on the other end before speaking in a more collected tone. "A few weeks ago there was a man that was murdered up the road from Pandemonium, after that big paint party that was held. We're just doing a bit of investigation and wondering if – and this is a big 'if', we could look at the footage from the camera's inside and outside the club, seeing as the property is under your name. We're looking to see if anything happened prior to his cause of death. Do you mind?"

The generally jubilant man felt a chill run up his back. He'd heard about the death of that gang member from the Santiago gang. A lowlife he was, and Magnus remembered seeing him around a couple of times. He was amiable, but nonetheless still a wannabe gangbanger that had watched one too many high school flicks where the thugs walked around with their pants slung low and bandana's around their head. He'd been a tad too forceful whilst hitting on the girls in the club that night, and Magnus had to hold back the anger that threatened to overflow at the amount of disrespect he was showing to others.

"Of course, anything I can do to help Alexander," Magnus said in a business tone. "Drop by the club some time on Saturday. I've got a few clients coming in to preview the venue and I'll be in there from noon onwards."

"Thanks."

Magnus was about to hang up on the blue-eyed fiend but paused as he heard the boy stutter on the end.

"Pardon?"

"I was j-just wondering if – that is will – do you – screw it, can we go get a drink sometime again?"

Magnus was surprised by the young boy's outburst. The two had met up a twice since the dance party at Pandemonium, and both times Magnus was the one to initiate the first move, rendering the young officer speechless and in awe at the attention from a man of his social ranking.

"Can't get enough of my beautiful self, can you?" Magnus teased, wishing he could see the blushing boy's face.

"No – I mean yes – I mean, arrgh. This is a trap question that I will not answer until further notice."

"Such a diplomatic answer," Magnus replied with a smile. "I'd love to, Alec. When are you free?"

"Friday evening? Meet up Taki's and we'll go from there."

"Love it. See you then pretty boy." Magnus ended the call mid-point of Alec's bashful stutters, a smirk gracing his exotic features. He picked his cat off his chest and held him up gently as they stared at the picture of Alec. He was blushing like mad and his dark black hair was swept off to the side, a few strands framing the angular jawline. With looks like his, Magnus couldn't imagine why the guy had gone on such few dates. He was winter wonderland's hidden secret personified, with the cool, alluring demeanor and the nonchalant behavior to match. He could see from the amount of guys and girls that had salivated after the dark-haired officer that he'd have no problem picking anyone, so why was he still, to put it lightly – so inexperienced in the field of love? He held the tablet up in front of his cat and stared at Chairman Meow questionably.

"What do you think, your Eminence?" Magnus asked reverently. "Is he a keeper or is he not worthy of our attention anymore?"

The silver-blue cat looked at the picture expectantly before tapping it with its paws before mewling and purring at the picture. Magnus grinned and put the phone down before bringing the cat back to his lap and resumed stroking its silky fur.

"Good choice," he cooed.

* * *

**Unfamiliar terminology:**

**_Lavalava_ \- pretty much a sarong you wear around your waist, body or what ever. Worn by most of the pacific cultures (and it makes a guy look hotter than hell if you ask me. Especially my brown islander boys - they got abs man.)**

**Like I said, PM if you want to know more about this chapter OR...**

**... you can be good boys and girls and WAIT UNTIL THE FUTURE!**

**... Unless you're dying from suspense in which case i will spoon-feed you a bit of information.**

**...Actually - scratch that, I will only answer 'YES OR NO' questions. You guys can just wait in the dark for this to come in the future chapters.**

***Magnus ringtone: Lady Gaga - Marry the Night**


	19. Chapter 19: Java Jones

**I'm baaaaccckk! Just started back at University after semester break and OML so much stuff going on. On the one hand i have tests and assignments, and on the other I have fandoms and new music videos from my fave artists to catch up. Not to mention I've been dropping in at my old skool to catch up with the kids and their performance for Stage Challenge and Pasifika by Nature. So busy it's not even funny.**

**This is the next chapter guys. So glad for the reviews that i've been getting - helps get the mad writer within me up and at 'em. Now, if you have questions dob't be afraid to PM me - i will clear up any confusion to the best of my ability without trying to give away too much. last thing i need is for you guys to give away spoiler alerts.**

**Also, if you have any ideas that you want me to incorporate somehow into this story, i will gladly listen to your requests and try my best to do what I can.**

**Enjoy, and don't hate me to much for my grammar and spelling. I operate on a nocturnal mode when i'm doing these stories, guys.**

**\- Violentkitsune**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Java Jones**

**_"_**_He's going down the alleyway – after him!"_

_"We can't allow him to escape! The minute that boy is gone, it'll be our heads on the chopping block!"_

_In the dark of the night, a group of no more than ten armed men chased a shadow down the corner of a building, guns at the ready in their hands. One thought ran simultaneously through their heads:_

**_Bring him back to the Head!_**

_"We've got you cornered, you filthy rat!" One of them shouted, firing a few bullets in the direction of a scuffling noise. "Stop being a coward and face us like a real man!"_

_One of them pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on, throwing the beam onto the five meters high brick wall at the end of the alleyway. All of them backed up in shock – where had their target gone?_

_"Search this area! He can't have gone far!"_

_They moved out below on the ground, taking their flashlights out and searching behind the dumpster bins and amongst the rubbish cans, turning the place into a trash palace buffet for the strays. A black cat had the misfortune to move into the spot of a flashlight and was shot dead before it could register its surroundings._

_"Where the hell did he go? He can't have disappeared!" A young man yelled aloud. "Find Maccabeus! Search this place, search his home, search all the bunkers and safehouses!"_

_"Yes sir!" Footsteps retreated out of the alleyway as they all split off in their cars, racing off in different directions through the night. _

_Little did they know that atop the second platform of the fire escape alongside the building, their target was nestled in the corner of the suspended ground, stashing his gun back in its holster as he watched them disappear like dogs running after a fading scent. The young man exhaled and stood up, moving with all the grace of a cat as he leapt down on to the ground, bending down to absorb the shock from the impact. With a grunt, he ran towards the brick wall and ran alongside its vertical surface before leaping over the wall, landing in a perfect cat stance on the otherside._

_"Shit," he hissed. He looked back at his right side, a red flower of blood blossoming on the side. One of the bullets had hit him, taking a piece of his shirt into the wound as well. The young boy grit his teeth and ran on into the night. There was nothing he could do, not after what he did tonight. He needed to leave for good, to destroy any chances of them hunting him down in the future._

* * *

"You okay there, Simon? You're kinda spacing out a bit."

"Wha? – Sorry. Just dozing off, didn't get enough sleep last night."

Simon pulled his glasses off and wiped his eyes, trying his best to keep them pried open. Last thing he needed was to fall asleep inside a café where the employees were notorious for pulling pranks on long-term customers, or at the very least, people they knew well. Beside him, Clary shrugged her shoulders and continued working on her paper work for an assessment at the university, tapping her pen against her cheeks. She wore a green sweeter over her dungarees, with a pair of beaten up converse adorning her feet.

Java Jones was a relatively small café joint, but it was always bustling with a variety of customers. Both high school and university students alike flocked to this small-scale food joint for its comfort food and the chill-out zone; small business owners came in to get away from the pressures of the world outside, and even a few stay-at-home mom's frequented the place for its sumptuous 'platter of the day' specials. The place was quaint, with mismatched furniture here and there, but was large enough to host both public and private functions, from poetry readings, to quiz nights, and even a few performances from local musicians.

Simon sat up on the orange couch and rolled his shoulders back. It had been a while since he had one of those nightmares – that one in particular as well. He pushed his glasses back onto his face and reached out for the coffee cup he left on the table before him. He needed something to drive away those nightmares, something to distract him.

He looked around him at the people in the café. The café wasn't quite as busy on Tuesday afternoons. There were the usual customers like Clary and himself, along with Eric and the rest of the band, with a few of their classmates and underclassmen from high school. The barista's working at the counter were mingling with the customers, sitting at the tables and mixing sprinkling dashes of cinnamon and chocolate on their cream toppings.

"Hey, Simon," Eric said out of the blue from his couch, "when are you finally gonna man up and sing for the opening for our next gig? Every time we ask you, you're always wimping out man."

"Excuse me but I did not sign up as vocalist, man," Simon replied stubbornly as he fidgeted with the beanie on his head. He pulled the sleeve of his woolen jumper back over his wrists and flopped his head on Clary's shoulder lazily. "That role belongs to Kirk over there."

"I'm willing to share the spotlight," a dark-skinned man answered. Kirk Duplesse was the lead singer for their band and had as much sex appeal as a fluffy border-collie. He wore a rumpled black graphic shirt and chino's, fingering the guitar pick strung up around his neck. "Besides, you're the dark horse of the group, remember? How are you suppose to be mysterious if you don't take over different roles every now and then?"

"Leave him be, Kirk," Clary chastised. "Simon can do whatever he wants."

"Not necessarily," Eric stated. "I mean the guy can't walk around in his birthday suit with you around, can he?"

"I will come over there and give you third-degree burns with my coffee," Simon threatened menacingly. His band-mates felt a chill run through them, as if a cold, dead hand had grasped ahold of their hearts.

"Be nice," Clary ordered darkly, flicking him in the head with her pen. Simon cowered away from the redhead after her attack. Despite her small build, she was deceptively powerful with her minor attacks – anything you gave her, she wielded with complete accuracy and deadly force stronger than a missile launched at mach 20 speed.

The brunette rubbed his head furiously, tears springing forth in his eyes. "You're so mean Care-bear."

The redhead rolled her eyes and got up off the couch, taking her wallet with her. "I'm getting another hot chocolate. Want anything?" Simon shook his head. She looked over at the rest of the members that made up Changeling. "What about you guys?"

"Chocolate croissant please," Kirk requested.

"Sorted," Eric replied, tossing his energy drink up in the air.

'What about Matt?" Clary asked. "Oi – Matt! Come up for air man!"

In a booth in the corner of the café, one hand holding onto an acoustic guitar while the other one was practically groping the behind of a thin blonde was the final member of the band, Matt Charlton. A bit of an enigmatic, with pink streaks in his cropped blonde hair, Matt was responsible for organizing their gigs and acted as critic over their performances. The pink and blonde haired man pulled his lips away from his girlfriend of two years Katie, only to dive back in again and attack her lips with even more ferocity than before.

"Gross," Simon cringed. His girlfriend was graceful, but Matt's kissing skills weren't exactly the best to watch. "Matt looks like he's an octopus trying to suck her face off."

"Can't argue there," Eric replied, shivering in his seat. "Traumatized forever."

Clary shivered and walked off over to the counter, motioning to one of the barista's working in the back. Simon turned to watch as Eric went ahead to go rescue the guitar that was in danger of being smashed on the ground, strumming it as he came back to them.

"Aw come on man, sing us a song," Eric pleaded as he approached the brunette. "Just one song man, please? I'm getting tired of Kirk over here with his crusty old voice—"

"I'm right here Eric."

"—and you still need to widen your range of musical talents. Young padawan, you have the force within in you, but you need to refine and hone your skills if you ware to become the master you always wished to be."

"Your twist on Star Wars is terrible," Simon whimpered. He settled back in the sofa and watched Eric toy around clumsily with the guitar in his hands. Eric was the drummer for their band, and as such, he would always be tapping out a beat with anything. The sandy-blonde couldn't stand to keep his hands still, and always had to keep his fingers moving one way or another.

_"You're pretty good at that stuff, aren't ya?"_

_The brunette looked across at the older teen from his table at the back of the cafeteria. In his hands he held a padlock and was tinkering about with the lock using a hairpin. He looked over at the dark-skinned teenager with wary eyes._

_"Just a habit of mine," the kid replied. "Been doing this since I was little – couldn't really keep my hands still."_

_"How fast can you pick those locks of yours?" The boy asked. "Can you pick anything else besides those?"_

_"Under five seconds top, and then there's a whole other bunch of locks I can play around with."_

Simon shook his head. Why the hell did he have to think of _him_ all of a sudden? In fact, why was he even thinking of that place? That time was put far behind him – there was no reason to fret over times long gone.

He needed something to distract him. Simon held his hand out expectantly for the guitar and huffed. "Give it here, you're hurting the poor thing."

"I had it first," Eric said childishly, strumming the strings spastically as he wiggled his eyebrows. Simon leaned up off his chair and grabbed hold of the guitar's neck, wrenching it out of the sandy-blonde's grasp. "Hey!" Eric pouted petulantly.

Simon stuck out his tongue and began to pluck the notes for Imagine Dragon's song, 'Warriors'. "I leave this in your hands and it'll come back in splinters." Clary came back to the couch, slumping down over the arm of the sofa and flopping backwards on the base of the couch, her legs still up in the air. "You know we're in public right?" Simon questioned quizzically.

"Gah, it's only the usual crowd," Clary justified. "No newbies will come in today."

"Want to bet on that?" Simon challenged, nudging the redhead with his elbow.

"Please – it only works if you have something to offer for recompense when I win. I crush your dignity on a daily basis so that's nothing, and you're the housekeeper so chores won't make a difference."

"You're so boring," Simon moaned as he leaned back and continued playing. His fingers morphed the tune into a much slower melody, the chords more mellow and comforting. Simon lost himself in the music as he let his hands do all the work. Simon was musically talented, and was often called the 'Rift God' by his band mates and their fans, due to his ability to play even the most complicated of guitar rifts at an incomprehensible speed without so much as batting an eyelash.

"Is that Hozier?" Clary inquired as she listened to Simon's gentle playing. The goofy brunette nodded and continued to play the chords.

Eric joined in and began to tap out he rhythm on his lap, using the wooden chopsticks from his sushi lunchbox as drumsticks. Meanwhile Kirk leaned up onto his knees as he hummed out the starting notes for the song. The whole of the cafe was lulled into silence as they listen to the group of boys jam away, watching them in complete awe. Simon and the boys liked to do impromptu performances every now and then, just to keep things interesting as well as to gauge their performances in front of a different crowd.

As Simon headed into the verse for Hozier single, Kirk began to voice the words in a sultry rasp.

_Don't take this the wrong way_

_You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you_

_Only blue or black days_

_Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose_

_Would things be better, if there was a right way?_

_Honey, there is no right way_

Kirk gestured to Simon to join in the chorus as he switched chords, and the young brunette huffed before joining the dark-skinned man, harmonizing his natural tenor with the baritone.

_And so I fall in love just a little , oh a little bit every day with someone new_

_I fall in love with just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new_

_I fall in love with just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new_

_I fall in love with just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new_

"Man, take over," Kirk said, gesturing to the bespectacled bass player.

Simon wrinkled his nose as he switched the chords, still continuing their conversation over the strumming. "No."

The usual customers groaned and began to yell at the brunette. "Just sing, and stop being so modest!" They called out.

"Sing and you get a upsized drink on the house next time you come," the barista' promised.

Everyone chanted 'sing sing sing,' in unison and Simon blushed like a rose in bloom. Even his best friend was giving him the goo-goo eyes as she chanted long with the crowd. Simon eventually smirked and rolled his eyes as he gave in to those around him. The young man was a push-over at the best of times and he slowly eased into the second verse, wearing a bashful smile on his blushing face.

_There's an art to life's distractions,_

_To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through,_

_Some like to imagine,_

_The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do_

_Would things be easier if there was a right way?_

_Honey, there is no right way._

Kirk joined in with the brunette and they continued to sing through the chorus while Eric kept the beat slow and steady. Matt had finally disentangled himself from his girlfriend and was sitting on the arm of the sofa across from Clary and Simon, adding a layer of beat-boxing to the mix.

_I wake at the first cringe of morning,_

_And my heart's already sinned._

_How pure, how sweet a love, Aretha, that you would pray for him._

_'Cause God knows I fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit every day with someone new_

_I fall in love just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new (x4)_

_I fall in love just a little, oh a little bit every day_

Simon halted his voice as he gave Kirk dominion over the airwaves, diverting attention to the guitar while Kirk sang the last part of the song.

_Love with every stranger, the stranger the better (x 6)_

_I fall in love just a little, oh a little bit every day with someone new_

Simon strummed the last few cords before letting the last note linger in the air, while Eric and Matt eased their parts into a silence, letting Kirk end with the last note. The minute they finished, the whole café erupted into applause for the group, whistling and catcalling after them. Even the newcomers had to give it to them in the sense that they were captivating as a whole.

"Nice one Simon," the members of the café congratulated. Simon handed the guitar over to Matt who wore a superior smirk on his face.

"Mate, you're singing a solo for our next gig," he commanded.

"No I'm not," Simon argued. 'That's Kirk's job."

"Nope, you're definitely singing solo next time," Kirk said.

"Yes, you should," a stern feminine voice interrupted. "You have an amazing voice, and I can assure that everyone will go crazy when they here it."

The boys paused in their ramblings against one another and looked up to see a couple standing behind the couch. A lean, chiseled blonde leaned down against the back of the couch with a playful smolder on his lips, and mischief gold eyes. Beside him, a tall striking woman with black hair twisted into a loose fish plait held her arms around her chest and wore a soft expression on her beautiful face.

"How's it going Simon?" Isabelle greeted playfully.

Eric coughed and hastily whispered in Simon's direction. "Where'd you get the killer babe and how do I get one?"

* * *

As a general rule, Izzy didn't really like to stop off on the way home after work. Once she finished she clocked out at the Institute for that day shift, she was always the first one in the car. She had a specific schedule that she stuck to; wake up, work out, go to the Institute, come home, cat-nap, social life, sleep.

So it was quite a surprise when, while waiting in traffic at a set of traffic lights, Isabelle had practically slapped Jace to turn the car around and park it up outside a picturesque coffee shop on the corner of a side street. Jace decided to humor his sister and did as she asked, partially because he didn't want to deal with 'Crazy Izzy' and for curiosity's sake. The minute the car brushed up to the curb, she was out of the car and moving at a brisk pace into the café. Jace was still trying to figure out why she was so fixated on that place when he saw the Lewis guy and—

_Clary._

Now they were sitting at a coffee table across from Simon and Clary, drinking a variety of drinks ranging from hot chocolate to brewed chai latte. The boys that they'd been sitting with all left the cafe, tapping both individuals and blowing kisses in Isabelle's direction before closing the door behind them. Isabelle rolled her eyes and set them back on the pair before them. Fate sure had a funny way of reuniting people.

"I'm surprised to see you two here," Clary commented as she bit down into a cream donut. "We don't usually get a lot of newbies here at Java Jones."

"Well, we thought we'd stop in to check out this place," Isabelle said smoothly, talking before Jace had a chance to explain her crazy antics to them. The blonde looked over questionably at Isabelle, who sent him a brief, dark glare that promised punishment if she mentioned her behavior in the car before putting on the same small smile on her face.

Simon and Clary looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders before returning their gazes on the siblings. "How's life been for you guys?" Simon asked.

"It's been good lately," Jace answered. "Isabelle, Alec and I have been undergoing our exams for the honor squad up at the Institute."

"Honor squad? Isn't that the elite taskforce that acts directly under the Police Commissioner Jia Penhallow?" Simon inquired genuinely. Both Isabelle and Jace nodded. "I heard that particular taskforce is quite difficult to get into because of the strict requirement scheme."

"That's true, but we've been passing with flying colors," Jace said, leaning back against his seat.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "This guy barely made it through on his part."

"Izzy, don't be jealous," Jace said cockily with a crooked grin. "Just because my natural talent carried my team through to the next part."

Isabelle merely rolled her eyes at her adopted brothers behavior. "Any way you look at it, all three of us have been advanced to the next part of the trials, so give us half a month at the most and you could be looking at the youngest detectives within the New York Police Department."

"Wow," Simon said admirably. "That's pretty awesome. Right Clary?"

"Amazing," the redhead said with a smile. Isabelle looked at the young redhead's green eyes and saw that there was some other emotion hidden deep in her eyes. As if she were disappointed about something.

_Kinda weird,_ Isabelle thought mentally as she drank from her mug. _Maybe she's stressed out about something._

Isabelle reflected back to the moment when she first met the young art student. Her first impression of the redhead back at the club was comfort; when she looked at Clary she felt an easy-going aura emitting from the woman. Isabelle could clearly see herself getting along well with this girl just as much as she did with Maia. She had very steady, down-to-earth feel about her and, like Maia and herself, preferred to be straight up with someone.

"Are you in a band Lewis?" Jace asked out of the blue.

"Yeah," Simon said. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the blonde. "Didn't you see me play that night at Pandemonium? I was up on the stage with the guys that just left. I thought you would've known already."

Jace rubbed the base of his neck and ginned wryly. "I was a bit preoccupied at the time."

Isabelle took note of how her brother's eyes lingered on the redhead, whose skin was flushing a pale rose pink. Her inner cupid smirked and let loose a flurry of arrows rain down from her pedestal high above the lavender clouds. Her eyes sparkled at the idea of how much mischief the two must have got up to that night.

_Speaking of which… _"Clary – do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Clary's eyes perked up and she angled her body towards the tall woman with Victoria Secret model features, tilting her head as she did so. "Sure."

Isabelle took a deep breath. She shouldn't even be doing this, but if she wanted to get somewhere on that case, then it would be better to just start asking people now rather than wait for the evidence to turn up out of the blue. "I don't know if Simon told you this, but the night of Magnus's party… afterwards we ran into the guy you painted up earlier before us outside down the road. He was in real bad shape and died a few minutes after we got to him."

Clary paled and bit her lip, looking over at Simon. "Is that true?" Simon nodded and clasped his fingers together while Clary bit down on her lip. "That's real bad… and to think that it would happen on Magnus's ground." The redhead switched her eyes back to Isabelle with confusion. "What do you need from me though? I'm not exactly trained in your field of expertise."

"I don't mean to pry," Isabelle said respectfully, biting her lip as she did so, "—But did you see anything out of the ordinary at the club? We're trying o build up a case to solve this, because he didn't exactly die quietly and he was shouting a whole lot of nonsense - which, come to think of it might not be nonsense at all. You got to see him and talk to him for a bit, so I was wondering if there was anything weird about his behavior at all. Did he say or do anything that might help us out?"

Clary's expression turned blank as Isabelle's inquiry sunk through her. Isabelle generally read people well, but for some reason she gauge any form of emotion from artist. "He seemed pretty normal - or at least as normal as one would get when they go out clubbing at night. Other than that, he seemed in pretty high spirits that night and was looking forward to 'getting it on' with some of the girls that night. I don't think that'll help you out in anyway though. Sorry about that."

"That's fine," Jace interjected. He sent a scathing glance at Isabelle to stop her from attempting to glean any more information further.

"Sorry about how sudden that was," Isabelle replied, returning to her senses. "I shouldn't have asked—"

"That's fine," Clary said dismissively. "Besides, no harm no foul."

Both siblings took note of how tense Clary had become, sensing a faint trace of fear beneath her cheerful tone. Isabelle didn't want to push her, for fear that she might be traumatising the innocent art student and shrugged the matter off her shoulders.

"Anyways, Simon we need to get going," Clary said. "I've got bills to pay and you have the kitchen tonight."

"That's right," Simon said. He gulped down the remains of his drink down his throat and looked across at Isabelle, fixating her with his caramel brown eyes. Isabelle couldn't help but feel drawn to this guy. _Totally outside my radar for bed-buddy material_, she admitted, but either way she couldn't help but acknowledge that this guy was still very cute.

Isabelle was so busy studying Simon that she didn't realize Jace was tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention. She snapped out of her reverie and looked over at the blonde who wore an impatient look. "What Jace?" She said harshly.

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Were you not listening, woman? Lewis—"

"I have a name Herondale."

"—and Clary were asking if we want to catch up with them this weekend for lunch. You up for it?"

Isabelle looked back at the duo as they stood up, looking down upon her with expectant glances. Clary had a hopeful look sparkling in her emerald eyes, while Simon's was more hesitant and shy. Every time he brought his eyes up to meet hers, they would flicker back down to the table or at something on his phone. Isabelle felt a flutter stir within her heart as she looked at Simon with cool regard.

"I'm up for it," Isabelle replied in agreement.

"Great," Clary said sweetly. She nudged her dumbfounded best friend in the ribs and pulled him along out of the café. "Catch up with you guys later."

The café bell rang out a light chime as they exited the café joint and disappeared around the corner. The middle they were gone Jace looked down at Isabelle with a smirk that promised nothing but trouble. "I get it now."

"What?" Isabelle asked brusquely.

"You and band boy over there. He's that guy from that band you're so obsessed with, isn't he?"

Isabelle pursed her lips and finished off her croissant, refusing to make eye contact with the blonde. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aww, and she's denying it too," he said pityingly. "My, how hard that ice shell is around your heart."

"Shut up, Jace," Isabelle said defiantly, slapping the blonde on the back of the head. "What about you? You were making goo-goo eyes the whole time."

"And? I'm giving in to my desires. You're just trying to delude yourself."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and leaned against her palm. "If there was nothing wrong with the guy before her met Clary, then something definitely must have happened during the party. Either he pissed off some people, or mixed about with the wrong group and his demise was their way of getting revenge."

"Either way, we're just going to have to wait until we see the footage with Alec from that night," Jace said grimly, brushing his hair off his face as he stood up. "Until then, let's just focus on assessment for now. The moment we get accepted for the Detective status, we're throwing everything we can at this."

* * *

**There you have it. Now a few details before you continue:**

***Lyrics are from Hozier - Someone New**

***Lyrics back in chapter 16 are from Fallout Boy - Phoenix**

**Hopefully i didn't confuse you too much and that you're not too disappointed.**


	20. Chapter 20: Big Brother

_**Hey, over 700+ new views since I posted the last chapter. You're doing great for my self-esteem guys. And to those who've been giving me feedback thank you so much. I'm bowing before the laptop to all you readers out there.**_

_**Well, got a biology test to prepare for (even thought its just hitting 9pm here in NZ and my test isn't till t.30 2mrw night), so I think this should satisfy you guys for now tonight. I'm getting **_**_back in the flow and it's starting to come back to me._**

**_-Violentkitsune_**

**Chapter 20: Big Brother**

* * *

Rage. Fear. Anger. Trepidation.

All of these emotions – in their raw forms, crossed over Clary's face as she arrived outside her bother's apartment complex. _Golden Sands _apartment complex was a tall building that basically smelt like money the moment you moved to the doors. Doorman dressed in black and gold coats with black hats bowed low as people passed through the doors of the complex into the lobby, tilting their hats to the residents of the building.

Clary strode up to the building in a pair of her dungaree's and Aztec printed cardigan. She was aware that she looked more like street riff-raff but she didn't give a damn. Those who judged others based on their outer shells were nothing but superficial beings, without any depth of character at all. Standing outside the lobby doors was a chipper old man, with a wide smile and kind eyes.

"Good evening ma'am," he said kindly as he held open the door. "How's your day been so far?"

"Terrible," Clary huffed, pulling out a twenty from her pocket. "And I feel like it's about to get worse."

The older man chuckled. "We all have those days, young miss. It's just a matter of how long it takes for us to kick it in the butt."

Clary smiled warmly and handed the twenty over to the doorman, who accepted it gratefully as she breezed into the lobby. The floor was made from black marble, with quartz walls and a shimmering chandelier dangling high in the center. There were soft velvet chaises' with floral patterns printed on them based by a flaming gold fireplace in the corner. People, young and old, were dressed to the nines and loitered about in the lobby, from the small café to the left, to he stairwell over by the lifts. Clary could appreciate the good architecture within the place, but she couldn't stand how these people just loitered about without a care in the world, throwing their money away on their public images rather than more meaningful matters.

The redhead stormed over to the elevators and shut the door before anyone could enter, heading all the way up to the top floor. Her situation was in dire straits if she had to come up to visit her brother of her own volition. She would've preferred to settle matters on the phone but there were more pressing matters that had to be addressed that night. Clary quickly sent out a text to remind Simon that she might be late tonight just as the golden doors of the elevator slid open to the top floor. Clary strode down to the end hall and knocked on the last door at the end of the corridor.

The door opened to reveal a leggy blonde with intelligent brown eyes and a delicate kind of beauty. Were it not for the haughty expression on her face and the sheet wrapped around her, Clary might've taken a liking to her once upon a time.

"Yes?" she purred, looking down condescendingly on Clary's form. "I'm sorry, but we don't buy Girl-Guide biscuits here. If you want, you can try the floor underneath."

Clary rolled her eyes. Her brother was notorious for his sexual appetite and often had girls trailing one after the other. "Is Jonathan awake or asleep?" she said plainly.

The girl flicked her hair around her shoulder and gazed down at Clary with disdain. "Sorry, but you must have the wrong apartment."

_God, the girls he picks him are so bloody annoying! _Clary raged. She barged past the woman and looked around the apartment, flicking on all the lights.

"What the—you can't just barge in here, midget!' The girl seethed, stumbling after Clary. "If you don't leave this second, I'm calling the police."

"Look 'honey', you seem like a real bitch," Clary started off, slinging her bag on the breakfast bar, "and I'm not in the mood for your antics so if you wouldn't mind, either shut up or leave."

The girl was flabbergasted and muttered incomprehensibly. "I-I-I-I'm calling the police, you psychotic bitch."

"Jonathan," Clary called out loud in a patronizing tone. "You're new toy doesn't seem to have any form of manners. That's a new low for you, isn't it?"

There was a shuffling from a side corridor and Jonathan came waltzing in, running his fingers through his pale hair. A pair of boxer briefs hung snugly around his waist, giving Clary an unwanted eyeful of his sculpted body - from the muscular legs to tapered waist and the lean muscles tensed up beneath his skin.

His eyes crinkled open in surprise as he saw Clary leaning against the bench, her eyes freezing him on the spot.

"My apologies, Clarissa," he said in an elevated tone. "If I'd known you were coming here, I would have the place more befitting of your presence."

"We need to talk," Clary said sharply. "Privately."

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders and looked across over at the blonde who was still wearing a scornful look on her face. "You're still here Jessamine? I thought we'd agreed you'd be gone by now."

"Now, now baby, don't be mean," the woman pouted. She crossed over to Jonathan and ran her fingers along the front of his crotch, spurring newfound emotions of disgust in Clary's body. "This little slut here was interrupting our quiet time. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her to get out and—"

"Jessamine." Jonathan picked his hand up and caressed her face lovingly, lulling her into a state of complete and utter ecstasy. The blonde had all but forgotten about Clary's presence and leaned in towards Jonathan, puckering her full lips in preparation for a kiss…

"That little 'slut' is my sister." Jessamine opened up her eyes and found herself staring into dark shadows, feeling them tear apart her soul piece by piece. Jonathan's entire demeanor had changed to something else entirely - something completely demonic. Jessamine cringed as Jonathan's grasp tightened around her hands, cutting off her blood circulation entirely. "And she is no more a slut than you are the face of Vogue magazine, _wench_." He wrenched her hand away with such uncontrollable force, sending the blonde girl tripping up over the sheet.

Jessamine was still in a state of shock as Jonathan made his way back to his room. A few seconds later he emerged with her belongings, from the short sequined halter dress and sparkling heels, to her black Gucci couture bag – and threw them all at her body. The blonde looked up at the man with starlight hair, and stumbled back. Gone was the playful, lustful man that she'd been lying with only minutes ago, replaced with a feral demon that instigated a strong sense of fear seep within the far reaches of her heart. His face still had that same small smirk, but now there was a specific danger behind his smile that threatened her safety. She felt so tiny, so insignificant in his presence. "If you do not remove yourself from this apartment within sixty seconds, I will be forced to call the superintendent and the security guards to remove you from this place."

Clary stared coolly at the blonde as she stumbled to pick up her gears, dropping the sheet down and tossing the tight dress over her naked form. She still wore a look of indignation, but now it was tempered; her pride had been broken and her spirit was in shambles. Mustering whatever was left of her dignity the blonde sent a dark glare in Clary's direction before slamming the door behind her.

Clary looked back over at her brother as he picked up the sheet off the floor. He wrapped it around his waist and secured it with a knot before gliding towards Clary, completely and utterly shameless about behind half-naked in front of his blood relation.

"I am profoundly disgusted by your habits," Clary spat out. "It's barely six in the evening and you're already screwing a girl in your bed."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy there, sister of mine?" Jonathan said seductively, running his fingers along her jawline as he passed her. "Have no fear Clarissa – you'll always take first priority over those other girls. My toys are just entertainment for when there's nothing fun to do."

Clary gagged on her own saliva. "Pervert." She folded her arms across her chest as she stared evenly at her brother. "We have more pressing problems. There's a group of police officers that are trying to gather evidence on Sanguine's death. They've already discovered that his death was premeditated, and it's only a matter of time before they begin to discover our involvement with his death. Are you even paying attention?"

Jonathan looked up from the bench, staring at Clary with a blank poker-face. He was pouring himself a shot-glass of schnapps in a bottle, watching the liquid slosh about within the glass. "And what's the problem exactly?"

"My problem? _My problem?!_" Clary tightened her hands into an enclosed fist as she glared Jonathan in the eyes. "My problem is that you promised me that no one would be investigating. You said no one would look into it because of the circumstances of that night. 'A typical O.D.D, that's how they'll see it.' And yet look where we are, Jonathan! Your acclaimed skillset that you boast about so much isn't as great as you think it is."

Jonathan strode over to his sister in three steps and grasped ahold of her shoulders, tilting her chin up with his thumb. His eyes hardened like black coal and his jawline tensed up as he glowered at her. "Are you questioning my ability to keep you safe Clary?" he demanded in a low voice. "Do you feel that I am incompetent in my duty as Valentine's Firstborn and as your brother? Is that what I'm hearing in your voice?"

"What do you think, Jonathan?" Clary replied coolly.

Jonathan brushed his forehead against Clary's, pulling his lips up into a brutal snarl. Clary knew that she was pushing him too far, but this matter was too dire to be left unresolved. If they found out about her involvement- God, if _Jace _found out about her involvement, there's no knowing what would happen.

Clary stiffened. _No, no, no, no no no! _Since when did she start giving a damn about what Jace thought about her? He was just a cop – she shouldn't be worrying about him on such a personal level. His opinion shouldn't matter to her.

"I think, sweet sister of mine," Jonathan growled as he gripped the back of her head tightly, "that your lack of faith in me is an insult. You should know that I will always, _always - _look out for you first. And if you can't find yourself believing it on your own, then I'll pound it into this thick skull of yours until it's branded across your forehead. Are we clear Clarissa?"

Clary's blood froze at her brother's antagonistic behavior. There it was - Jonathan's true colors showing through that beautiful façade of his. All of her pent-up anger that was boiling within her earlier evaporated into nothing but smoke. In the face of her brother's fury, she finally recognized what it was to be truly wrathful, to be a true Morgenstern. She cast her eyes down meekly, losing all of her courage and uttering a small reply. "Crystal clear, brother."

Jonathan loosened his hold on the back of her head and slowly stroked her red curls, backing away from her ever so slightly. "Good. It's not so hard now to have faith in me, isn't it?" he crooned. "As your brother, my first instinct is and will always be to protect you. That alone should be enough incentive for you to believe me."

Clary held her arms across her chest and moved over to the leather armchair in the lounge. To her, Jonathan was a paradox. There was no way of predicting what he would do next, and it was never clear what his endgame was. The silver-blonde was a grandmaster in the art of illusions, a manipulative genius. He could predict every outcome from his opponents moves, and would manipulative their choices to his own advantage.

"Now, was there any other reason why you barged into my penthouse unannounced? Not that I'm displeased to have you here of course – it's always a pleasure having you in my home. But if you came just to accuse me of doing poorly, then that's just pathetic."

Clary snorted and pointed to her bag over on the bench. Jonathan rummaged through the bag and emerged with a wide envelope. "Blueprints for Raphael's holdings up in the Bronx. The one's listed in the archives in Town Hall haven't been updated. Two years ago, Raphael added another floor to the building and hired a private architect to redesign the whole interior of the building.

Jonathan unfurled the blueprint and laid it flat along the bench, placing the glass and schnapps at either end of the paper. "Now how did you acquire such a blueprint as this? It can't have been such an easy task."

Clary sneered at her brother and held her chin up loftily. "You have your friends, I have mine."

"Impressive," Jonathan noted. 'Taking the initiative to use your own resources. Have you had any further contact with Raphael?"

"No. I've visited his holdings three times altogether, including the interview process, and so far I've just been interacting with his second-in-command Lily. During those times we've only been discussing the agreement of the contract held in place between myself and Raphael, and organizing a time and date for the start of the painting."

"Is there anything you can tell me so far about his security detail? Camera placement? Something that can help me on the inside?" Jonathan demanded.

"The only thing I can tell you about is that they have camera's placed around all four corners of this building, with three-sixty rotation, and motion sensor's in place."

"What about the vault? Do you have any idea of where it's located?"

Clary stood up off the armchair and glided towards Jonathan, pushing him out of the way so she could get a better look at the building's architecture. "While I was waiting out in the foyer, the guard detail would always swap between the top floor of the building and the basement. Other than that, I have no clue."

Both siblings stood side-by-side, looking down at the diagram before them. Jonathan angled his body slightly towards Clary as an idea sprang forth in his head. "When do you start the painting?"

"I have one more appointment with Lily before I begin my work with Raphael. The appointment for the official painting is scheduled next week Tuesday afternoon, and it's a solid three hours." Clary turned her body towards Jonathan with a questionable gaze upon her face. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

Jonathan picked up the schnapps off the bench and took a long swig from the bottle. "I'm going to make a call to the Seelie Court."

Clary's face blanked out. "Wha- the Seelie Court? Why?"

"Well for starter's we need to check in with them to let them know that we haven't completely abandoned the task given to us. Two, I'm brokering another deal with them on behalf of father in preparation for the Auction next month. And finally because there is someone there whose skills are in high demand for this particular job of ours." Jonathan headed over to the phone set up by the fridge. "We need to get our eyes inside that building and while I know how capable you are, you need to be focused on your own part of the job if we want this to be a success."

"What are we talking, professional hacker? Computer genius?"

"Something like that," Jonathan said smoothly.

Clary folded her cardigan around her and swung her bag up on her shoulder. "You can have the blueprint – I've got another copy back home."

"Leaving so soon?" Jonathan pouted after his little sister's form. "You can stay the night, you know. There's a spare bedroom that's all decked out for you to use." He saw the suspicious look on her face and raised a hand up placidly. "Don't worry – none of my toys have ever gone in there. That room is reserved for honorary family members only"

"How thoughtful," Clary rubbed the base of her neck. "As generous as that offer of yours is, unfortunately I have some own details to tend to. Some of us still have bills to pay and papers to work on."

"Of course," Jonathan said gently. "Well the offer still stands whenever you need a place."

Clary flicked her hair up into a loose bun and walked out of the apartment. "Good night Jonathan."

* * *

In a dimly lit room, a woman of exquisite beauty lounged across a red velvet chaise, looking through the files set up before. A number of applicants had applied for the new internship program at _Glamour_, and all of them showed promising potential. She flipped through the I.D photos scattered on the table and pursed her pale pink lips. The woman had long red hair that was reminiscent of autumn's final showdown before winter, a brilliant shade of auburn just as the sun sets off in the distance.

"Hmm, this one looks divine," she whispered in the still air of her parlor. Her voice was a soft musical chime, dancing gently through the ears of those who had the pleasure to listen to her. She held another photo in her hands and stared at the handsome man, forever frozen in time on the page. "A little feral looking, but women enjoy that air of mystery around a man."

_Brrrrrooom – Brrrrooom_

The woman picked up the receiver of her telephone on the table before and held it gently in her perfectly manicured hands. "_C'est de la part de _Queen."

"_Your Majesty, a pleasure to hear your voice Beautiful One._"

The woman curled her legs up and sat up straighter, feeling a sly smile rise up on her face. "Jonathan," she cooed. "How is Morgenstern's Firstborn doing these days?"

"_I am doing fine, Your Majesty_," he teased on his end. "_My sister and I in the process of retrieving that little artifact of yours. And I must say that you put us in quite a tight fix."_

"Well I'm sure you'll come through," the woman said in light chime. "The descendant's of Morgenstern are a match for anything. After all, they have the blood of both the angel and the devil in them, do they not? That is why your bloodline comes out so beautiful and temperamental."

"_My Lady, you make me blush,_" Jonathan said lustfully on his end.

"It would be better if you were here in person. I'd be able to see that delicious shade on your handsome features."

"_Now now, my Lady, we have business to deal with. I require Miss Whitewilow's services with this task of ours. We've encountered a… slight hurdle and her expertise is a necessity if we are to be successful with this operation of ours. I would like your consent to have her work with us for a short period."_

"Why Jonathan, as an business partner, I would gladly offer up Miss Whitewillow's services to you," the auburn-haired woman said sweetly on the phone. "But you know, Miss Whitewillow has felt that she is being harassed by that sister of yours, Jonathan. And as her Head, I can't just blatantly throw her in with a savage dog yapping at her heels."

"_Well, I have as much power over a barking dog as you do over an act of god. We cannot control the situation to come, but what we can do is use it to our advantage._"

"Well, I'm not so sure about giving you Miss Whitewillow. She's quite an asset and the last thing I want is for her pretty face to get scratched by that illiterate dwarf you call your sister. Honestly Jonathan, you two are bred from the same stock, yet you both came out so different. Your birth mother's blood has tainted your bloodline."

"_If you're that worried about Clarissa, I can assure you that I will keep her on a tight leash. She'll come around to our ideal way of thinking soon enough."_

"Good. Wild beasts need to learn their place under those far more dominant." The woman sighed dreamily into the phone. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with another 'fellowship' opportunity here at _Glamour?_ I could use an experienced individual such as yourself to help initiate the new neophytes. And perhaps I could add a little something extra to your credibility. I know how much Valentine likes to hear about people doting on his children. Perhaps I could put in a good word for you."

"_My Lady,"_ Jonathan said passionately. "_My heart will always yearn after you, but I must protest. I just need Miss Whitewillow's services for now. Perhaps we can reschedule another time for when I might come in to visit you. However, in return for your services, can I tempt you with a viewing of some of the merchandise that will be featuring in the upcoming auction next month? I can promise that you won't be disappointed."_

The woman's cerulean blue eyes widened at the young man's offer. The Dawn-breaker Auction was an absolute must for all those in the know, featuring pieces of extreme value, both living and inanimate. "Will I be able to review the live merchandise as well?"

"_Oui, Madam. You can look to your hearts content for just one night only."_

She held a slender hand out in front of her, her fingers adorned by a shimmering ring embedded with an Alexandrite stone, its hues shifting in the light. "You drive a hard bargain, Master Morgenstern. I'll send Miss Whitewillow's details to you within the hour."

"_Merci, Madam Queen."_

The woman ended the call and tapped her fingers against her slender jawline. The Head of the Seelie Court, and major corporate boss of Modeling Agency _Glamour_, looked out the floor to ceiling windows that displayed the entire city on platter. There was Central Park lying yonder like an emerald jewel amongst the trash, with tall towers skyrocketing high above the din. The woman stood up and padded over to her desk, catching a glance of her figure in the reflections of the surfaces around her. She pressed a call button on her phone and listened to a passionate tenor answer the call.

"_My Queen, what is your wish?"_

The Seelie Queen pursed her lips and caught sight of her glistening blue eyes staring back at her through the glass windowpane. She twirled a slight curl around her finger. "Send me Miss Whitewillow immediately. We have business to discuss."

* * *

**To be honest, i had no idea what the hell I was doing in this chapter until I read through the whole thing. Geez, sometimes I am a pure genius and sometimes I just look at my stuff and think 'Where in Hell did I even find this sort of crap?'**

**Review, give advice, critique, whatever you lovelies want to do. **

**Funfact: I get some of my inspiration from Blacklist, and also other people's fanfic stories. not to mention my own nutty friends (e.g. Changeling's impromptu performance is based off me and my mates when we were in town at Night Markets, and some of our mates were doing professional busking with the microphones and speakers and everything. So we all sang ;Little talks' and earned them a few extra cash dollars - ka-ching ka-ching)**

**If you know any good stories - be they fanfic or otherwise, don't hesitate to PM me.**

**-_Violentkitsune_**


	21. Chapter 21: Follow the Paper Trail

**Surprise, i'm baaack!**

**I've been on hiatus for a while, but that's because I've been brain-dead for a little while. However, I'm back!**

**Now a few house-keeping rules:**

**\- All characters belong to dear and wonderful Cassandra Clare**

**\- I am sorry if I get my geography wrong. I don't know New York so I'm making up a few of these places (which you can obviously do in ****fan fiction, I mean hello. But some people are a bit sensitive so i apologise to that)**

**\- To those who sent me requests, i will be getting to those in the future. I just gotta get myself on track before I begin to incorporate those fantastic suggestions of yours.**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Follow the Paper Trail**

The Lightwoods and their brother were currently seated in a seminar room full of the top officers within the police force, each and every one of them currently waiting patiently for the Commissioner. An amber alert had been issued amongst those who'd passed the trials and everyone was curious as to why their presence was needed at this hour. It wasn't unusual for officers to be working the pre-dawn zombie shifts, but having this many officers at five a.m. was unorthodox.

Jace and Alec were seated near the back, with Isabelle sitting between them in the back row. The trio were worse for wear, having spent the last night writing up reports for the number of arrests they'd done up the past week. Paperwork was the universal word for hell in all jobs, and unfortunately no one was exempt from it in the Institute.

"What do you think we're in here for?" Someone mumbled in front of Jace.

"Another test?" A brunette replied.

"Nah, not urgent enough," they replied.

Everybody straightened up as Commissioner Penhallow entered the room, followed close behind by her assistant and Agent Hodge Starkweather from the C.I.A department. It was surprising to everyone how erratic their body language was – Commissioner Penhallow was generally more graceful in her strides; today she was the epitome of stress

"Officers, I'm sorry to call you out this early in the morning," Jia stated in a stressed out tone, "But we have an urgent situation." She extended one hand out to the grey-haired agent to her right. "I'd like to introduce to you Agent Hodge Starkweather from the C.I.A department – yes, the real one. Agent Starkweather will be explaining to you why each of us within this room is gathered at such an hour."

"Damn right he'd better," Isabelle mumbled behind Jace, slumping down and pressing her forehead against his back. "I have sleep to catch up on."

"It's only five a.m., Izzy," Alec mumbled towards her. "You get up a lot earlier than this just to fix your hair."

"Shut up Alexander," Isabelle groaned beneath her breath, punching him squarely between his shoulder blades.

Agent Starkweather had a sour look on his face as he stared out amongst the group gathered before him. He didn't exactly have the trust-worthiest features, and his aura was anything but caring or grateful. "Recently, a man named Malachi Dieudonne was brought into the Institute not too long ago by a few of your fellow officers. We began to interrogate Mr. Dieudonne and successfully received a confession about all his dealings regarding known mafia boss, Valentine Morgenstern."

The projector screen lit up behind him on the wall and displayed an image of the middle-aged white-blonde man wearing a somber expression, dressed to the nines in an expensive suit. Jace studied the haughty expression on Valentine's face, feeling a surge of annoyance for this lowlife rise within him.

"Unfortunately, Malachi died before we could gather anymore information from him."

"Cause of death?" Jace inquired.

"Bullet to the head," Hodge replied lifelessly. "The convoy unit escorting Mr. Dieudonne to a off-shore black site encountered a few hiccups along the journey. It wasn't until after they arrived that they found his brain splattered all over the walls, along with the guards inside the compartment with him. From our investigation of the crime scene, we believe that one of Valentine's personal agents infiltrated the vehicle and ended his life to prevent further information from being spilled."

"Must've been someone with a military background," Alec whispered under his breath. "no ordinary guy can just get in and out of an armored truck without rousing suspicion."Jace couldn't help but agree with his brother's thoughts.

"Regardless of Mr. Dieudonne's death, my department managed to grab ahold of Malachi's possessions, included a ledger and a logbook of all the shipments Valentine has been making within the last month. Valentine has scheduled a shipment of stolen cargo to enter the dockyards in Brooklyn at eleven a.m. today, and our plan is to at the very least, set a trap for Valentine and his men. His workers will begin assembling the cargo in a near-by warehouse for pick-up, and Valentine will be visiting to ensure that everything is according to plan. The minute he comes in, all of you will the secure the area while my men go in and take Valentine under custody."

Jace's blood began to boil. Finally, they were getting somehow. The blonde had been starving for real life action; car chases could only satisfy one for so long until you remembered the adrenaline one gets from dodging bullets in the air.

"This is where you lot come in," Commissioner Penhallow intervened. "While it is important that we retrieve the blacklist items, and the mafia boss, today's mission will serve another purpose. This will be the final test for the Honor Squad."

Instantaneously the entirety of the officers within the room sat up to full attention as the severity of her words sunk into their brains. Commissioner Penhallow's eyes sharpened like an eagles as she looked throughout the room. "As of this moment onwards, Agent Starkweather will be taking full of this operation. I expect each of you to perform at the peak of your abilities. I don't want anybody slacken about on this job. Do so, and you'll find an empty desk the minute this unit arrives back. I will be watching your teamwork skills from here at the Institute. Critical judgment is a necessity at this point, and if you falter for even a second in this mission, and teamwork is of the utmost importance in this job of ours. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Ma'am," the room chorused loudly, respect resonating through their voices.

The commissioner looked over at Hodge with a slightly bemused face. "My officers are under your command now," she said forwardly. "Do with them what you will, but rest assured that if the C.I.A screws up in my jurisdiction, I'll be bringing this up with your boss. This is the last time I let you guys waltz in without introduction and take over my job."

"Be grateful that we're even considering letting you guys help out," Hodge said smarmily. "You guys need to be taken down a notch." Hodge looked across the individuals within the room and huffed. "This unit will be mobilizing at eight-hundred hours. Be ready by the time that hour comes."

"Yes sir!"

* * *

Thursday morning came and the weather was quite foggy in Brooklyn harbor. A thick shroud of mist hung over the dockyards like a silver curtain, and there was a certain chill in the air that no one could clearly identify.

All the officers were spread throughout the area, waiting in various sectors of the dockyards as workers moved to and fro from a freight ship docked in the harbor, shifting large crates on land via cranes, and using the fork-lifters to carry them all into the big warehouse. They were persistent in their jobs, and quite specific in the fine details. From observation alone, Jace could tell that these guys were use to doing dealings with Morgenstern's lot throughout the past. Not a single man loitered about, and everyone kept up a constant pace, never faltering for a moment.

Jace, Isabelle, and Alec were based around the loading bay, waiting for the arrival of their target. They were dressed in typical jackets and jeans, with Isabelle wearing a beanie to hide her mass of silk black locks and a warm puffer jacket over the top. Even now and then, the earpieces clipped in their ears would buzz to life as the other team leaders radio-checked their zones, reporting back to Hodge who was up in a Tech-BUS. The vehicle itself was an armored truck filled with all the necessary electronics needed for a covert operation; from cameras' and live feeds across national television, to a weapons cache stored onboard for emergency purposes. Earlier on the CIA agents that were apart of this mission had bugged all the corners of the warehouse both inside and out, ensuring that they had eyes and ears in all the right places.

Jace stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and sighed. Jace's patience had a short lifespan, and the one thing he absolutely loathed was waiting in the field for things to get going. He looked out and watched a few boats drift across the top of the water, causing the river to spray behind them and create rainbow's.

"How are things going with you and that Fray girl?" Alec asked, breaking the silence in the air.

Jace turned to face Alec, who was leaning against one of the shipping crates. His mind went fuzzy as he pictured Clary back at Java Jones. He'd seen how completely relaxed she was in that place, as if it were a second home to her. When he first saw her with Simon, how easy-going and careless she'd been with him, he'd felt a tinge of envy. But when she saw him, the green-eyed monster disappeared into oblivion, because she'd gifted him with a secret smile reserved only for him – one that reached right up to her eyes and displayed the most of her emotions.

"Interesting," Jace replied honestly. "Clary's quite an interesting individual to talk to. She's quite mature for her age."

"Something that you're not," Isabelle snorted.

Jace glared at the dark-haired girl but continued his musings aloud. "There's a playful side that comes out every now and then from her. And I don't know why, but… I don't want to let her go. There's just something about her that keeps drawing me in."

"My, my, if I didn't know any better I'd say that someone's in love," Alec teased. "I still need to have a proper meeting with her – I didn't get to talk to her so much that night at Pandemonium."

"That's because you were too busy canoodling with the big man himself," Isabelle said shrewdly, her eyes sparking up.

Jace's own interest sparked up as he looked at the now blushing man. "That's right – getting a little cozy with old Magnus Bane, were we?"

The older of the Lightwood siblings began to blush bashfully at their words. Thankfully, the radio crackled to life and saved Alec from further interrogation from his siblings. He checked in on the com-link before nodding and looking back at the grinning duo before him. "There are three cars coming in the east entrance. Standard SUV vehicles, but knowing Valentine he would have refurbished them with a few extra gadgets. Guys up top are warning us to steer clear and be on guard."

"Got it," His siblings replied in unison.

They moved behind the large metal shipping crates and watched as the cars swerved in around the corner, parking up in V formation. All the occupants of the vehicles vacated the cars, each of them carrying a loaded automatic rifle in their hands. The last to come out of the vehicle was a man with silver-blonde hair, dressed in elegant dress pants, a grey blazer and dark aviators over his eyes, partially obscuring his features from those around him.

"I'm a little star-struck," Jace said sarcastically. "I mean look at it – Valentine Morgenstern, infamous underworld black market trafficker and arms dealer, standing a few metres away from us.

"Can't complain there," Alec agreed. "Feel quite honored being able to take him out."

Jace spared a glance over at his brother and grinned maniacally. "If it turns into a full-on fight, I dibs on taking out Valentine."

Alec smirked darkly at the golden blonde. "Sure, you can put the cuffs on him – _after_ I cripple the man for you."

"You boys," Isabelle groaned. "Must it always be a competition between you two?"

"Of course," Alec replied. "Need to give Jace a chance to catch up on the scoreboard, you know. He's quite far behind too, if memory serves."

"I believe it's actually thirty-six: thirty-one in my favor," Jace corrected. "Getting a little bit senile there, brother."

"Both of you – shut up," Isabelle interrupted. She wrenched the radio out of Alec's pocket and reported back to Hodge. "Target is on the move and is making his way towards the warehouse."

"_All officers converge on the target. I want Valentine trapped like a cornered rabbit. Make sure none of the workers get away with any of the shipments either."_

"Yes sir," the officers echoed on the radio link.

Jace, Isabelle, and Alec nodded at one another before sprinting off towards the docks. The three individuals knew the strengths and weaknesses of one another, and had an understanding of how each one moved. The Lightwood siblings moved with all the grace and stealth of a pair of panthers on the prowl, but it was Jace who lead onwards with stealth of a lion on the prowl. Jace pulled the gun from his jacket and held it carefully in both hands as he maneuvered himself around the shipping containers, calculating every step to ensure that not a single movement was wasted.

The officers split themselves into three groups and made their way towards three different points of access to the warehouse. Alec went with a group up the stairwell along the side of the building, taking point from up top to ensure they had a bird's eye view from above. Isabelle tarried behind the back of the second group that headed around to the back entrance, effectively blocking off any chances of escape. Finally, Jace lead the frontal assault and headed towards the front of the warehouse, followed closely behind by the rest of the officers. Their job was to incapacitate and take hold of Valentine before he could grasp control of the situation and issue commands for retaliation.

"_Squad one in position,_" an officer radioed in.

"_Squad two has the green mark."_

A fellow officer stood against the wall of the warehouse and held the walkie-talkie up to his lips. "On my mark – ready… GO!"

Chaos ensued as the police officers invaded the warehouse, guns raised up to eye level as they began to shout out in the open-spaced building. The hired workers dropped the crates in surprise, struck dumbfounded by surprise and fear.

Jace focused on the guards who surrounded Valentine and trained his gun on the silver-blonde as he neared him.

The workers were in a state of panic and were herded about like cattle into a corner by Isabelle's group. Valentine's bodyguards began to shoot wildly but stopped shortly after they started. Red laser beams were pinpointed on each of them, with a vast majority aimed at the silver-blonde's back.

"Move and we shoot," Alec vowed publicly.

Jace watched from the corner of his eye as Isabelle elbowed a frisky worker in the mouth, wiping away his blood off her arm. The man got the message through and through and slumped back down with the rest of the lot, glaring miserably at the guards around them. The blonde looked back over towards Valentine and kept his gun steady as he made his way towards him. The man may have a few years on him and thugs to his dirty work, but he wasn't one to be trifled with. He could do some serious damage all by himself, regardless of whether he had a knife or not. Jace moved around the man and face him head on, studying his face.

"Hello there, Mr. Morgenstern," Jace goaded. "How are we today?"

The man before him snickered. "So the C.I.A sends in their rookies to do the hard job. What poor judgment on the their part. " Valentine's voice was strong, commanding like a king's. "Do they think that they can capture me with just a bunch of newbies?"

Jace smirked. "Actually they came crawling to the door of the NYPD's best and brightest to bring your ass in. And guess what? We've got you cornered like a thieving rat in a trap."

The man grinned maniacally and his lower lip trembled. "You're quite entertaining you know that? But you've got this whole thing wrong."

Alarm bells rang inside Jace's head but he remained calm, leaving no opportunities for the mafia boss to get inside of his head.

"_Herondale,"_ Hodge called in. "_Just cuff the man and bring him in. Stop tap-dancing with the bastard and do your job_."

Jace ignored his superior's orders, pushing them to the back of his brain. He moved closer to the suspect before him. "Why am I wrong exactly?"

The man tilted his head and raised both hands before him high in the air. His lower jaw moved in a chewing motion before he stopped. "Let's just say that I'm just the middle-man here."

A tremor ran through the man's body and his mouth began to foam wildly. His body crumpled down on the ground and Jace rushed in towards him, cussing under his breath. He looked around and his eyes widened as he saw the bodyguards begin to convulse in unison, there eyes rolling in the back of there heads as they slammed their bodies onto the ground in a mangled heap.

_Cyanide pill_, he registered as he ran to Valentine. He tried to keep the man awake as he held him up, forcing him to spit the remnants of the pill out of his system. The convulsions ran simultaneously for a further few seconds before they stopped altogether. Jace kept his body still as he felt the body loosen in his arms

_Shit._

_"_Someone call the ambulance!"

_Goddammit._

_"—_Hodge down here now! Suspects are down—"

_Why the hell would he end his life just like that?_

Jace let the body roll down onto the ground, watching the glasses roll off his face. His entire mind raged against the scenery around him, refusing to believe what had just transpired. The blonde was in a state of shock, unaware of the other individuals that came to search the body.

_Why the hell would he do that?_

Jace stared back at the face, looking at the man's wide-eyed expression. The frothy foam had dried up around his mouth, tinged by a slight pink residue, and his dark grey-black eyes were frozen in perpetual fear of the unknown that waited beyond the gates of death.

* * *

Jonathan placed the binoculars back on the dashboard and revved the motor up, whisking the polluted river below. He felt pleased at the outcome that had occurred today – albeit a little disappointed with the lack of bloodshed. He'd hoped to see a bit more ferociousness in the hired help, but alas they weren't ordered to put on theatrics for the cops.

Before he ripped the life out of Malachi, he'd found out just how much the man had spilt to the NYPD and had carried a contingency plan to through those filthy bluebloods off his father's trail. All he had to do was make a few calls to the original freight boat, ask them to dock in earlier outside of New York and remove majority of the valuables to a separate facilities before continuing it's way back to Lady Liberty's home. It wasn't hard to find loyal men working under Valentine's reign, so those men weren't exactly a loss. There were always many more soldiers who were eager to replenish the ranks of Morgenstern's Empire. The look-alike was a bit harder to persuade – Jonathan had found the man after getting the blonde from the Seelie Court to search up doppelgangers for his plan, and he was the closest by far. Initially he'd been stubborn and refused Jonathan's generous offer of payment, but after a few words of 'encouragement' from his family members, he'd finally agreed to throw his life away. It was wonderful how far blackmail could go - the results themselves were always more effective than if they volunteered of their own accord.

Jonathan threaded a hand through his white-blonde hair and twisted the boat towards another harbor. The young bachelor allowed himself a moment to indulge in his victories and proceeded to ring up his father to tell him the good news.

"_Yes."_

"The problem has been remedied," Jonathan said. "I cleaned up the mess that your accountant caused for us. Neither the police nor the C.I.A will be searching for us anytime soon, father. I assure that everything will be on schedule."

"_How much cargo was lost to this plan of yours?" _His father questioned on the other end.

"Not much – I had some acquaintance's of ours bring in a few replica's to make it look more authentic, and I left in some of the less pricey artifacts to ensure that they wouldn't look to closely."

His father remained silent on the end before giving a calculated reply. "_Do you think you did good business my son? Throwing in a number of blacklist art pieces and priceless artifacts – which has taken me month's to refine and prepare for this upcoming auction of ours, mind you – into the gaping mouth's of those pathetic, so-called 'righteous' defenders of the law? Do you believe it was worth it Jonathan?"_

Jonathan gripped his phone tightly and let the boat lull to a slow stop along the water. His father was enraged, that alone was obvious. But Valentine should've known to be prepared for loss of stock the moment his stupid accountant went into the station. No one keeps quiet for very long - not even those who claim to be the most loyal. The only way to prevent secrets from spilling was to send them to their grave before the very seeds of doubt grew within their mind.

"Yes, I do," he challenged. Jonathan was tired of his father's stand-over tactics; every-time he went to go remedy a problem, there was always something lost in the process to ensure complete success. Jonathan knew that sacrifices were necessary, but Valentine believed that the sacrifices should come from the pockets of others, not that Jonathan minded. However, it was infuriating how high the bar Valentine had set for his children, when he himself couldn't even achieve these aspirations.

"_We'll see. The aftermath of this plan of yours will indicate how successful you've been."_

Jonathan ended the call and proceeded to drive along the Hudson river, speeding up to a fair one-hundred and eighty miles per hour. There was a nice barista girl that he knew that worked at a diner down by the harbor. Maybe she might be able to help alleviate his anger issues with a bit of personal one-on-one time.

* * *

**There you go guys, that's your next chapter up and running. **

**First off, I'd like to thank all those who've been following this story, and to those who have recently started following - you guys are great :D Don't forget to review my work.**

**Second of all, I have a query for all of you guys: What are your thoughts on the book-to-series adaptation of TMI to 'Shadowhunters' on ABC. And also, what do you think of the casting for the characters? Are you:**

**a)Like **

**b)only seen the movie so you have no idea whatsoever **

**c)'no, that is not what _ is suppose to look like! Do it again u stupid directors!**

**I'm aware that this could probably start a fandom war, but it's fine - i can just go back to the books if ABC break my heart and screw up TMI.**

**REVIEW PLEASE! THAT'S WHAT FUELS MY CREATIVITY FIRE!**


	22. Chapter 22: Down at Huntington's

_**Suuurrpriiiiiseee! **_**I'm baack!**

**Sorry I've been gone so long. First year at Uni. is knocking down pretty hard on mwah - all my courses are hitting hard with their assignments and test and whatnot. (Sweet jenga Jesus save me from the paper monsters)**

* * *

**Chapter 22: Down at Huntington'**

All of today's work, the ambush, the undercover agents – gone down the drain.

Hodge had gone completely ballistic when he came onto the scene. Rage had conquered his entire being and he'd put the blame on Jace, and Jace alone.

"Moron," he'd sneered. "Do you have any idea how long it took for us to track him down? And now, because of you and your stupid mouth, you had to go ahead and screw everything up."

In the back of his mind, Jace reasoned that Valentine would've committed suicide regardless of who came up to him. It was just that he had the unfortunate luck to be that particular bastard who spoke to him before he made his grand exit.

On return to the station, Commissioner Penhallow had sent for Jace to come down to her office. The woman, wearing a thin-lipped frown, listened to Jace as he gave a recount of everything that had happened from his point of view. He tried to remain completely neutral as he recited the events prior to the Institute, refusing to let his emotions influence his boss, so to say. Once she'd heard his side of the story, she gave him orders to take the day off and spend some time away from the Institute.

"None of this is your fault," she told him as she escorted him out of his office. "But I highly doubt that anyone would believe so. The last thing I want is for you to be harassed by the CIA once they come in. They'll inspect the body and then they'll take everything to do with Valentine away over the next few days. Until then, get out for a bit and have some down-time until you think you're ready again."

Now Jace was driving aimlessly down the streets, with no knowledge of where to go. He felt like a traitor, leaving the station without a proper excuse. Sure Jia had given him leave to do so, but it made him look like a coward in the eyes of the others. At the very least they'd managed to achieve something for today. When they checked the cargo, they found not only priceless antiques and art pieces, but several crates filled with guns and ammunition that could a small country.

"Hey – look on the bright side," Isabelle said in the locker rooms as he packed up his stuff. "We know have one less cockroach to kill, and eventually his empire should start to dissolve within the next few months maximum."

Neither Isabelle nor Alec blamed Jace for the outcome of today's mission. As a matter of fact, rather than being pissed off at Jace, they were more annoyed by the fact that he was the on to say the last words the man would ever hear again.

"Did you at least get a few memorable one-liners in there?" Isabelle had interrogated. "Through some sarcasm at his face? Anything?"

The blonde pulled up at a set of traffic lights and looked up at the flickering billboards. He just wanted to cleanse his mind of today's events, and he couldn't do that if he just went home. The digital billboards flickered to advertisements' by SKYSKY T.V in relation to pay-per-view channels. Next month's UFC fight was already on the boards and ready for booking at a low price…

_UFC…_

_If you're ever in the neighborhood and you want to blow off some steam, come see me._

The moment the lights turned green, Jace switched lanes and raced ahead, the cars lurching beneath his firm grip. This was definitely one of those times where he needed to blow off some steam, and he knew exactly who to go to for a good workout.

* * *

"Come on now, hands up Bat come on. Don't let your guard down in the ring, boy. Make sure you put the medicine balls away next time, Steve. Don't want Alaric having another fit. Buddy in the red shirt – yes, you buddy. Don't try to show off and lift more than you can punk. Last thing I need is for you to go home crying with a broken back."

Jordan Kyle moved throughout the gymnasium, keeping an eye over everybody that was in attendance. Huntington's Gym was a well-kept place, meeting the needs of all those who came to work up a good sweat and then some. In the corner, a group of teenagers were running rotation circuits set up by the staff members, each one working in synch and encouraging one another to work to the best of their abilities. A number of men and women of various builds and ages were up on the top level, using the gym equipment to their heart's content and participating in the work-out classes that had been put together for their purposes.

The brown-skinned brunette went around and rearranged the weights in the corner, cleaning up the pool of sweat that the last guy had left behind. _Some people have no fucking courtesy, _he complained mentally. Jordan had a sensitive nose and the minute he was within a few feet of the corner, he could already smell the sweat and B.O that permeated the area. The pungent odor swam up his nose and his face cringed in both annoyance and pain from the strength of the smell.

Jordan rolled his shoulders back once he finished cleaning up the weights corner. He placed the rag and spray bottle on the shelf on the wall and dusted off his hands. Everything seemed to be running in some form of order in the gym. The brunette ruffled his hair and looked in the mirrors along the back wall, catching a glance of his reflection. The young man wore a tight long-sleeved compression shirt and navy blue shorts, with black socks and blue and grey cross-trainer's.

"Yo Jordan," one of the staff members called out up top. "Got a guy here asking for you."

"Name?" Jordan called out, aligning the dumb-bells on the rack.

"Herondale."

Jordan's face perked up and he quickly cleaned up the corner. He spun around and jogged lightly up the stairwell in the corner to the ground floor. The receptionist up top pointed out to the guy before returning to her job at the desk. Jordan watched officer Herondale rise up from the seat in the corner, wearing a crooked grin as he glanced about the place.

"Not too shabby here, buddy," he greeted cheekily as he took hold of Jordan's open hand.

"She's an oldie, I'll admit, but the place has got character and history to it," Jordan said with gusto, shaking Jace's hand firmly. "And there is nothing that we're going to change about this place – except of course the odd sauna and thermal heating pools here and there." Jordan pulled away ad leaned against the front desk with a curious light in his eyes. "Didn't expect to see you so soon, Herondale. What's brings you here to my neck of the woods?"

The policeman's golden eyes flashed remorsefully for a brief moment of time. "Bit of a bad day up at the Institute. Everyone's getting grilled by the higher-ups, so I thought I'd come down and have a look at this place that you're so adamant about." Jace tugged the strap of his sports bag over his shoulder and looked about casually. "Got anything worthwhile for me to cure my boredom?"

Jordan smirked and looked over at the woman working at the desk. "I'll sort this guy out, Nina." He gestured for the blonde to follow him and they descended down the stairs into the basement level of the gym, with Jace looking about at all the equipment available for usage.

"We've got some circuit programs set up at each of the stations within the gym," Jordan explained. "Back on ground floor up top is where we have all the easy classes like yoga, spin-class – all of the easy stuff if you get my drift. Down here is where all the hardcore members work up a good sweat."

The pair stopped outside of the raised boxing ring, where two boys – padded up with shin-guards and helmets, threw punch after punch as they fought to gain dominance over the other. Their moves suggested that they were still beginners but the energy and patience they exuded was akin to that of professional boxers.

"Youth program?" Jace asked as he jerked his thumb up to the boys, watching them circle one another before lunging back towards each other.

"Yeah," Jordan replied as he looked at the boys. "We take in a few boys every now and then who are in a bit of trouble and place them in the hostel for a bit. Just until things quiet down for them back home or they're back on their feet. While that's going on, we run a number of programs for them, to help instigate some self-respect and confidence within them."

Jace looked onward with a somber glow in his eyes. "It's good for kids to know that they've got some support going for them. You see too many people self-absorbed with their own dilemma's and burdening others with their problems, that they forget that sometimes they need a helping hand as well."

_Spoken like one with experience,_ Jordan observed mentally. Jordan flicked his eyes back and forth between the young fighters and Jace's fierce hunger in his gold eyes. A small smile formed on his face as an idea sprang to mind.

"In about half an hour or so, our big guns come in for fight-night training. These boys are quite gun-ho and everything, and they like to get a bit rowdy in the ring. If you're interested, maybe you could slot in with them for a bit – show some moves, huh?"

Jace smirked and fixed Jordan with a gaze full of arrogance and bravado. "Are they as good as you?" he asked respectfully, albeit mischievously.

Jordan smiled wolfishly. "These guys are powerhouses. I'm still a pup in comparison to those wolves. You get in the ring with them and they will devour you at a moments notice."

The blonde grinned impishly. "We'll see about that." Jace looked over at the punching bags dangling in the corner. "Tell me when the big guns get here, alright? I'll be warming up till then."

Jordan shrugged. "Your funeral," he teased.

Jace laughed, finally having a moment to relax and ease the burden off his shoulders. "We'll see about that."

Jace steadied the earphones in his ears and balanced the I-pod on his bicep before shooting out another flurry of attacks. Left, right, uppercut. He kept his attacks quick and bounced around lightly on his feet, aiming to conserve his energy but also quicken his attacks. Jace was harsh on himself when it came to self-critiquing. If others thought that he was doing well in one area, he would strengthen the rest of his skill-set. If they thought he was doing better, then he would aim for greatness.

Jace looked back at the black punching bag before him, waiting for it to still before he threw another kick. He arched his leg high and flicked it out with the speed of a cobra and brought it back in before the bag had time swing back around. Following that, Jace spent a minute executing consecutive speed-punches, never faltering for a second. Some of the younger gym members watched in awe and his speed, amazed by how controlled his movements were.

_Follow the mourning star, a light when darkness fell_

_The passion left unholy, now you find yourself,_

_We have nowhere to go, no one to wish us well,_

_A cry to find our home, our stories they will tell_

_We're bored to death in heaven_

_And all alone in Hell_

_We only want to be ourselves_

_We scream (we scream), we shout (we shout)_

_We are the fallen angels_

_We scream (we scream)_

_We shout, whoa-oh, whoa-oh-oh-oh,_

_To those who sing alone, no need to feel the sorrow_

_We scream (we scream), we shout (we shout)_

_We are the fallen angels_

Jace backed away from the swinging bag and paced around with his hands on his hips, letting his breathing rate return to normal. The blonde policeman tugged on his hair, making sure that it was secure in the short ponytail and that none of his hair would fall into his eyes. _I should probably get a haircut_, he thought mentally. He knew that's what most guys would do when their hair started brushing up on their shoulders, but he hated the sensation of a prickly head. It just freaked him out, especially since he himself had never had his hair shaved right off.

More guys were starting to show up, many of them a lot burly and bulkier than the young teens that had previously amassed the space. Some of them looked to be in their late twenties, while the rest were in their forties. Jace looked on at the men as they walked in, sensing the camaraderie within the air. Pensively, he wondered if they were all the big guns that Jordan had been talking about. If so, then Jace hoped they wouldn't be opposed to letting a newbie such as him-self join in the fight with them.

"Herondale!"

Jace took out both headphones and looked up at Jordan waving his hands wildly on the staircase. "Come up here, and bring your stuff while you're at it."

The blonde obliged the staff-members commands and gathered up his belongings before jogging back up the stairs. Jordan took him down another corridor and down a different stairwell. Music boomed louder with every step as they descended down the stairwell, and Jace found himself eager with anticipation to see what Jordan would unveil.

"Welcome to The Pit."

They'd entered a separate training room than the main one. The place had a darker color scheme with black walls and grey carpet. Crash-test dummies were spread along one side of the wall, with targets highlighted over the sensitive areas for fighters who wished to hone their skills and see their targets. A few fighters were attacking the black punching bags with such sinister aggression that it was almost inhumane. Partners were spread out, with fighters smashing against the pads that were being held for them. However, the greatest feature of all was the metal iron cage set up in the center, an exact replica of the stage that one would fight in a real UFC fight. The fences stood up to nearly three meters tall, and the stage was raised three feet off the ground, with two entrances adjacent to one another.

Excitement raced up Jace's spine as he followed his friend's form, hefting his bag around. Jace noticed that Jordan had changed out of his staff uniform into a pair of loose maroon drawstring shorts and a grey singlet, and was walking around barefoot. _Maybe he'll have a spar later on_, Jace pondered. The bass pulsed through the air like a beacon, and everyone moved to a rhythm that synchronized with the underlying beat of the music. There was a mixture of both men and women, with the age range being somewhere between twenty and early forties.

A girl with light brown skin and curly brown-gold hair sashayed her way over to Jordan with a smile on her face. She wore a purple sports bra that exposed a fading scar on her neck, and a pair of track pants that she'd rolled up just beneath her calves.

"Hey handsome," she greeted, wrapping her arms around Jordan's neck as she pecked him on the lips. "How's work been?"

"The usual," Jordan replied hungrily. He brushed his lips against the agile woman before him and curled away from her with a geeky smile on his face. He gestured to Jace and smirked. "Jace, this is my girlfriend Maia. Maia, this is Jace."

"I know who you are," Jace said as the light bulb flickered off in his head. "You're Isabelle's friend, right? Maia Roberts?"

The girl eyed Jace up head to toe before realization began to dawn on her face. "You're Barbie doll Herondale," she said with a teasing smile. "Isabelle's foster brother. She complains about you all the time."

The blonde growled. "Ha ha, funny ha."

"Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist it." Maia giggled at Jace's behavior and placed both hands across her chest. "So you're looking for a bit of action, tonight are you?"

Jace shrugged. "That's plan. Get loose for a bit, smack around a few people. You a fighter?"

"Nah, I'm a gymnast but I'm a brawler at heart." The curly-haired girl smiled at Jace's indifference and stretched her arms out in front of her. "I heard how you pulled a fast one on my man here. Mind you it's not really that difficult to do so – I mean, even a blind man could throw him on his backside."

"Language missy," Jordan teased, pulling on one of the loose curls that escaped from her bun. "I fought at least twenty other people before he came along. He just had an easy victory."

"Well, you did get hit pretty hard," Jace said mockingly. "I can understand if your memory isn't as good as it should be."

The fighter rolled his eyes and ushered the blonde over to the cubbie holes for him to stash his gears away. A few of the members regarded Jace with wary glances but shrugged it off, focusing all their attention on the hardcore training methods. Jace cast his eyes back to the cage, where two fighters were going all out at one another. There were a few guys on the outside of the cage, watching with fervent admiration and observing the attacks before them. One of the fighters' had striking platinum blonde hair pushed back off his head with a thin headband, exposing the deadly expression imprinted upon his noticeable features.

"I didn't know he was coming in today," Jordan said in a wary tone, narrowing his eyes as he looked up on the stage. "When did he come in?"

"About ten minutes ago," Maia reported, looking at the pale figure with observant eyes. The guy wore a pair of navy blue shorts and had red strapping tape wrapped around his hands. "He's been pretty angst since he got in. Haven't seen him this mad since that time when his sister shouted at him for knocking out one of the other guys. Dude's got some fierce temperamental issues."

"Ain't that the truth," Jordan muttered lowly. "Is he here purely for anger issues or did he come in for business?"

Maia shook her head. "Just rage-quitting. But I wouldn't get too close though, seems to be in a mood."

Jace stared quizzically at the couple beside him. "Is he that bad to hang around with?" he joked.

Both individuals stiffened slightly. "The blonde up there?" Maia pointed out. "His family has a bit of a… long-standing relationship with the owners of the building. He's amiable enough, but some days – worse than when I'm PMSing. And I can say that because I'm a woman so don't you go ahead and start whining about me saying stuff like that."

Jace rolled his eyes. She was so blunt and laid the facts out without a care in the world. She was definitely a friend of Isabelle's. Jace moved closer to the cage, rewrapping the black tape around his fingers.

"Hyah!" The dark-haired boy facing off against the pale blonde stumbled back wildly, flailing his arms about like a chimpanzee. He fell back against the fence and slumped down on the ground, all of his energy drained from his form. In contrast the pale blonde was skipping about the arena, scratching the base of his neck. The guy stepped outside of the cage while the dark-haired man took some time recovering from his attacks and moved over to his sports bag, which happened to be right where the trio were standing. As he came closer he caught sight of Jordan and a wicked smile appeared on his face.

"Well, well," the man whistled. "I was wondering if you were going to show up tonight Kyle. Haven't seen you for the past few weeks."

"I do have a life outside of the gym," Jordan replied politely. Jace noticed that he'd placed a bright, cheerful fake smile on his face, one that was clearly full of annoyance. "Been going alright though?"

"Succeeding in everything as usual," the blonde replied haughtily, taking out a red towel to wipe his face. "You keen for a round up in the ring? Could do with a bit more practice before my sister gets here."

Jordan shook his head. "As much as I'd love to take you up on your offer and tear you to shreds up there, I strained a deltoid muscle the other day when I was doing some work with Alaric. Surely there's someone else that you'd like to get smacked around by?"

The pale blonde guy laughed and waved one hand around the room. "Even if there were men or women worthy of my caliber, they fear me too much to even come and hold the pad for me."

The fighter chuckled lightly before tapping Jace on the shoulder. "Well, this guy's been gun-ho for a while, so I reckon he wouldn't mind giving you a run for your money. Jace, this is Jonathan. One of the most bloodthirsty fighters that's ever graced our gym with his presence."

Jace stared at the silver-blonde guy – Jonathan, with cool indifference. The pale blonde mirrored his actions and glanced up and down his form, judging every aspect of him. Jace could sense a dangerous air about him, not like a teen struggling to contain his volatile anger, but more like a wolf that teases its prey, lulling it into a fake sense of safety before pouncing once again on it's weak form. The guy was a few inches or so taller than his own, but his build was similar to his own. As far as first impression's go, Jace would have to say that from a fighter's point of view they would most likely be equal in terms of skill.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed into slits and he gazed at Jace with an intense gaze. "I feel like I've seen you around before," he uttered nostalgically. "Have I beaten you up once upon a time?"

Jace smirked. "I've never been knocked back on my ass in my entire life. Must have me confused with some other poor schmuck."

"Huh." The blonde folded his arms across his pale chest. Jace felt a nagging in his head that there was something about this guy that he should know. _Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan… do I even know a Jonathan? _"Well, what do you say there Jace? Jordan says that you're quite eager to stretch a few muscles in the ring. What do you say to a friendly sparring session, huh?"

The blonde smirked and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. While he was watching Jonathan fight earlier on, Jace recognized the ferocity in his eyes. He knew that this wasn't going to be a 'friendly' fight, as the guy had so gently put it. The pale blonde put his heart and soul into every attack and he never held back so much as an inch of his abilities. This would be a definite challenge for Jace.

And he gladly embraced it with open arms.

"Let's get started."

* * *

Jonathan Morgenstern was bothered by a certain something.

And that certain something happened to be facing off against him in the ring.

The men circled the inside of the cage, watching the other with complete focus. Jonathan was quite sound in the knowledge that this man before him was a cop, in fact the very same cop that he'd seen today at the docks. But there was something else that Jonathan found irksome about the blonde prancing around before him. And he couldn't fathom the reason why…

Whatever the case, he wanted to go all out on this pathetic cop that dared to enter his domain.

Jonathan leaned back on his haunches and held his arms up in front of them, keeping them open as he watched the blonde cop. He could see how similar they were in build, and from the stance that he took, Jonathan expected that this man would have the same strengths as himself, although he would have far more weaknesses than he did. He could predict the outcome of this fight in just a matter of seconds; all he needed was to see a few moves from the cop and then he'd be able to undo him.

The ivory blonde made the first move and snuck a spinning tornado kick out towards the blonde. Jace froze and barely had time to dodge his attack. He felt a gust of wind from the motion made by Jonathan and shifted back before lunging out with a closed fist, aiming for his gut. As soon as Jace's hand began to make contact with Jonathan's stomach, the pale blonde boy spun around and countered his attack with a hook to the head, moving faster than Jace could ever hope to accomplish.

_Whack!_ The inside of Jace's head rang loudly as he struggled to regain focus on his opponent. Jonathan raised his leg and front-kicked the blonde against the fence, slamming his build against wrought iron metal. Jace raised his arms to cover up as Jonathan delivered a flurry of blows, each of them increasing in accuracy, power, and speed. _Stay down, bastard,_ Jonathan growled maliciously in his head.

Just as he was about to send another body-rip to the side, the blonde shot out a surprise attack and thrust an open-palmed heel strike to his chin. Jonathan faltered and was hit by another surprise attack by Jace, one that came in the form of an inside kick that swept his leg out from under. Jonathan fell back on the floor and cringed at the pain that raced up the back of his spine. Jace jumped up and came down hard with an elbow driving its way to his exposed abdomen. As his full weight came crashing down on him, Jonathan felt his body curl up around the limb and contort around the body part.

Once the blonde rolled off him, Jonathan swung his left leg and managed to catch him in the head, watching him slump back down on his head. He rolled back onto his feet and narrowed his eyes at the cop. Surprisingly, Jonathan found that he was beginning to work up a storm fighting against this man; Jace had no bounds and came at him with everything in his arsenal, with the full intention of crippling his body. He'd even made Jonathan's lip bleed.

The blonde got back up on his feet and grinned at Jonathan with a savage desire. He gently cradled his upper body before straightening up and focusing his view on Jonathan. Jonathan watched as he moved towards Jonathan, pulling his fist back in a punch to the face. _Too easy_, Jonathan critiqued as he made to block his attack. At the last moment, Jace stepped to the side and spun around, sending a hammer-fist to Jonathan's temple. The Firstborn of Morgenstern dodged his attack and replicated Jace's attack, only sending it down to his ribs instead of the head. Fists of iron and steel meet ribs of bone, and Jonathan knew that if he landed another attack on that same area, he would shatter his ribs. The thought seemed to drive Jonathan into a state of frenzy and he came after Jace with murderous intent.

Jace could feel his body suffering from his attacks. He was barely making any headway in this fight; Jonathan seemed to be able to predict his moves before he made them, putting him on permanent defensive mode. Jace sidestepped his attacks, keeping both hands up and raising his shins to block Jonathan's kicks. This guy was on a whole other level, and he had no idea what to do to shake him off. Jace tried to attack his windpipe with a knife-hand but the ivory blonde just swiped his hand away and dragon-punched him in the guts. His ribs ached, and his body was becoming nothing more than a substitute for a punching bag.

Spectators had gathered around the ring, and Jonathan was doing everything he could to please the crowd, to remind them of who he was to them and the amount of power that he possessed. He shot a sneaky body rip, and followed up with a clever spinning back kick, watching Jace's body shudder beneath his assaults.

_One more hit,_ Jonathan calculated in his head. _Just one more and he'll be down for good._

The ivory blonde waited for the blonde to regain balance and watched him fly forward, golden eyes lit ablaze as he sprang forth. Jonathan waited patiently and widened his eyes as he saw his opening. One well-aimed kick and the blonde would be writhing about on the floor like a gutted fish…

'I'm not going down easy punk."

An arm hooked itself around his torso, and Jonathan felt his body being hefted up into the air like a sack of flour, before gravity began to takeover and pull him back down to the earth. His ears began to ring as Jace jumped back up onto his feet, circling the incapacitated ivory blonde on the ground. Jonathan groaned as he struggled to get back up on his feet, fighting to regain control over his senses. A fire started deep within him and he released a feral growl that promised vengeance. It was rare for anyone, absolutely _anyone_ to get the better of him. Not even the boy Kyle was able to hold off for so long against him as this blonde. Twice this blonde bastard had managed to throw him down on the ground, getting back up with a superior grin as if he'd actually done some damage to his body.

"You haven't seen the demon within me yet ," he rasped darkly, standing up into a crouch.

Without warning, Jonathan sprang forward and ran parallel along the fence. The minute he hit a post he pushed off with his entire body and used the momentum to sail towards Jace, delivering a dangerous axe from above that descended upon his shoulder. Jonathan watched with bloodthirsty joy as the cop crumpled down beneath his attack, a surge of fierce victory coursing through his veins. He stood back to admire his handiwork, watching the blonde fidget about on the floor. Jonathan felt something warm trickle along his face, and when he raised his hand to wipe at it, he saw that Jace had managed to draw blood from his nose. Fury raged and ran rampantly throughout his body and his entire mind turned into tunnel vision, with Jace being the ultimate target. Very few people had ever drawn blood from him.

And he planned to keep it that way.

Jonathan raised his foot and prepared to smash Jace's shoulder, earning him a permanent residence in the hospital wing. _You bastard…_

_WHAM!_

Jonathan found himself on the floor with a body straddling his form. Gazing down into his own eyes, with eyes more vibrant than any emerald on earth, was his beloved sister Clarissa, pinning his arms down with her knees and holding a closed fist above his face.

"Clarissa?"

* * *

**Fun Fact: I bought both the Magnus Bane Chronicles and City of Heavenly Fire. Even though i read COHF last year, it's much more fun to have your own hardcopy to swoon and fawn over. But MB chronicles though... it has soon many juicy bits in it, and a lot of spoilers about certain families that we all love and worship. It's really good because it gives insight to how the Shadowhunter society has progressed over the centuries - not to mention its good for inspiration.**

**Anyhoo, you're probably wondering about this chapter and going "what the of' just happened?" All will be explained in le next chapter young readers. Till then you know the drill - review and burn me if you must, or give me some ideas if you want.**

***Black Veil Brides - Fallen Angels**


	23. Chapter 23: This Pretense of Mine

_**Chapter 23 is here guys! Thanks for the support and everything!**_

_**Also whoever nominated for that award (idk who you are) thank you so very much! IDK why you did it, since my work isn't exactly the best of the best compared to numerous fanfics that I've read in the past, but I appreciate the thought!**_

_**I will definitely address all those suggestions that people have been sending me though. Just give me time and I'll get on with it.**_

**-_Violentkitsune_**

* * *

**Chapter 23: This pretense of mine**

Jonathan looked back up at his sister's face, watching her with gentle curiosity at her intense gaze. The pale blonde had forgot about his sister coming in to pick him up for their chat regarding the Santiago case, a result of losing himself in the fight with the Barbie blonde cop. The lower strands of her hair brushed up against his jawline, ghosting across his skin like a gentle caress. Jonathan groaned and shuddered as his imagination took over – if only it were her hands that descended down across his skin with soft, feather-like touches. He could smell the faint traces of raspberry and strawberries combined, the two flavors making his body go crazy. If his hands were free, he would run his hands freely up along her sides, exploring every inch of what her body had to offer until he reached her beautiful sensual lips…

Presently, Clary's face was anything but angelic. In fact, her eyes were so unlike their usual burning emerald green and were more glacial, displaying a far darker emotion. Her lips were pulled up into a snarl and the fist before him was shuddering with wrathful vengeance.

"Jordan, Maia, why the hell didn't you guys stop the fight?" Clary lashed out, never breaking eye contact with Jonathan. The ivory blonde narrowed his eyes in puzzlement. Why was she so worried about the pathetic cop?

"The guy was determined to fight one of the powerhouses," Jordan began to explain. "He—"

"You should have stopped it sooner!" She snarled, casting her eyes down at the couple. "Get Jace into the medical office now and have someone look at him. Knowing Jonathan, he would've shattered a few ribs somewhere."

The ivory blonde steeled himself and remained still as the floor shuddered beneath the oncoming weight of both Maia and Jordan. From the corner of his eyes, he watched as they picked up the blonde, who gazed at Clarissa with surprise and familiarization in his eyes. Jonathan's own dark eyes glowered at the blonde – who was he to think he could set his eyes on his precious sister? What right did he have to look at her? He averted his eyes back to Clarissa's face and looked up and down her body with a smug expression.

"Well, sister," Jonathan teased. "I didn't know you were the dominant type of gal. not my thing though, but I appreciate the effort."

Clary snarled and sat back up, leaning on his arms while looking around at the spectators. "If you know what's good for you," she began in a voice like thunder, "You'll get back to whatever the hell it was you were doing before the fight started, and mind your own business. This is a Morgenstern issue and if I so much as catch rumors of this going around on the streets, every single individual within this room will be my first lot of victims."

Power rang through her voice, strong and true, and everyone within the room felt the truth in the words she spoke. They all ducked their heads down and returned quickly to their training schemes, while some left the room entirely, bag in hand and everything.

"What's got your panties in a twist there, Clarissa?" Jonathan tilted his head to the side and had a coy pout on his lips. "It's not like I was going to hurt the boy."

"That's an absolute lie and you know it – they don't call you the Knight of Hell without a reason, brother." Clary punctuated each word with raw sharpness and anger, and Jonathan was intrigued to see how riled up she was over the fight. "I saw your face when I came down the stairs. You weren't aiming for the hospital - you were aiming for the morgue."

"It was just a bit of fun, Clarissa," Jonathan pouted moodily. "I wasn't going to kill him."

"Oh really?" Clary snapped sarcastically. "Tell that to the muscled help you butchered."

"Why do you care so much?" he demanded bitterly. "You've never interfered this far before."

"A habit that I should've fixed sooner."

The pale blonde narrowed his eyes to slits as he glared at his sister. "You're deflecting from the main issue at hand here, sister mine. Why do you care so much about that bl—" A light-bulb flickered to life as his mind rushed back to a night of music and blood, of strangers entwined in the flickering darkness and words whispered with venomous intent; a night where she was tangled in another's arms, and fingertips slashed across the skin of her prey.

"The blonde." Jonathan's lips turned up into a feral snarl that promised bloodshed. "Your pet from Pandemonium, that's who he is."

Clarissa stiffened above him, and he took this as an opportunity to break out of her hold. He rolled them over onto the mat, slamming her body against the ground. "He is, isn't he?!" Jonathan seethed with unspeakable rage, and he slammed his fist against the mat, making the entire floor shudder beneath his powerful hit. A million and one thoughts ran through his mind at the memory of those two dancing on the floor, with the blonde's hands wrapped around her body like a lover. "That's why you stopped the fight. This brat is _special _to you, isn't he?"

Clarissa wriggled out from beneath him, and stood tall in all of her petite glory. Her hair was like a banner of flame that wavers in the dark, and her lips tightened into a thin grimace. "He's not '_special_' to me in anyway," she defended. "The guy was going to die if you continued, and then we'd have another death to hide."

Jonathan hissed. "Don't lie to me Clarissa."

The redhead rolled her eyes in annoyance, but Jonathan could see that she was hiding something about the boy. He heard it in her trembling voice and he wasn't going to let her off so easily. Clarissa moved off the stage and ascended up the stairwell.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Jonathan demanded after her fading form. "We're not done yet."

"You can wait thirty minutes," she called out behind her. "I'm going to make sure the guy doesn't press charges."

* * *

Clary stood outside the nurse's office, her heart racing through her chest. She was mere meters away from the blonde demigod that had captivated her interests, with only a door separating her from seeing him.

_Jenga-jesus-hallelujah!_

Clary tightened her fists and exhaled. When she heard from the receptionist in passing that someone was going against her brother, Clary had sped up her pace to make sure he wouldn't slaughter the poor lunatic that was crazy enough to fight him.

But then she saw that who the lunatic was – and she sprinted like hell to stop the fight at all costs.

Clary held her hovered her hand just above the door handle, listening to the muffled voices echoing through the door. _Just relax, Clary. Just let it all out. Just smile and make sure he's fine._

The young art student and heiress to an underworld empire - pushed through the door. Jace was sitting up on the edge of the sickbed, shirtless and holding a pack of ice to his bruised shoulder. Beside him on the bed was the fighter Jordan, with his girlfriend leaning up by the sink. All three flicked their heads up in her direction.

"…Hi," Clary said shyly, rubbing the base of her neck. She pointed her eyes at Maia and Jordan. "Sorry for going off at you two."  
"I don't blame you," Maia answered casually. "I started getting the impression that your brother was going mad, but I didn't realise he was heading into hellspawn mode until the last second."

Clary nodded and turned her eyes onto the blonde policeman. Jace looked like he'd been through the grater; his skin was starting to blotch with yellow and purple patches, and his hear was a tangled mess around his face. Nevertheless, his eyes were still golden and held their brilliant spark within them. Her heart tugged in her chest as she looked at Jace with worried eyes.

"How's the pain?" Clary asked him gingerly.

The blonde shrugged and waved his hands. "About a five on the pain scale." He winced at the movement and let his arm flop back down by his side. Clary pulled at her face before moving up to the blonde, trading places with his hand on the icepack.

"You suck at lying," she mumbled.

"Nonsense. I've been told that's one of my best talents." Jace looked up at her with a crooked smile as she tended to his body.

"Then everyone else must be either getting a kick out of it, or they're trying to stay on your good side." Clarissa looked over at the couple with gentle eyes. "Does he need anything else?"

"The nurse said that he's alright, he hasn't suffered any severe injuries from Jonathan." Jordan stood up and stretched his torso out before grabbing Maia and pulling her behind him. "We'll leave you to it, someone needs to get back down there and make sure that everyone stays hush-hush about the situation." Jordan gazed knowingly into Clary's eyes and let his head drop submissively. "I am sorry about this though."

Clary waved her hand dismissively. "It's not your fault, Jordan. You've got a good head on, and now that I think about it, you wouldn't exactly let any sucker go up against Jonathan unless you were sure of their capabilities."

A bit of colour rushed back into Jordan's features and a small smile graced his lips before he left the room, with Maia shutting the door behind them. Clary looked back at Jace, who was staring at her intently.

"We have to stop meeting up in weird places," Clary said out in the open. "It's getting kind of scary how you know where I am, or where I'm going to be."

"Maybe fate really, really wants us to be together," Jace said in a mystical tone, pouting adorably in front of Clary.

_Dear Amazonian warriors and Valkyries in Valhalla, please give me strength not to give into this beautiful gift of a human being and jump him here and now. _"I don't believe in fate," Clary said stubbornly, holding the ice while she tilted his jaw up to inspect any lasting damage that her brother may have place on him. "For me, it's all about coincidences. And luck – luck plays a big part in how the world goes around."

"Well then, I must have been dipped in the fountain of good fortune, especially since I keep meeting you everywhere I go."

At this statement, Clary felt her skin flush a brilliant pink. There he goes again, speaking with such perfect clarity about her as if she were his reason for living. _If only we weren't on different sides of the law… _Clary traced her fingers along his skin, casting her eyes about him. The first time she'd seen him shirtless was in a room of flickering darkness that was constantly pierced by light every so often. Now that she had proper lighting, she looked down at the man before her, observing all the faded scars that decorated his exposed skin. To some, they would just see it at face value, but to her it signified all the moments throughout his lifetime where he put his life on the line. Each of them had a story behind each scar.

'You have a lot of scars on you," she observed quietly.

Jace shrugged beneath her touch. "I got into the odd fight every now and then during my childhood. And there's the fact that I chase after bad guys for a living."

Clary smirked. Jace may look he's in pain, but he still had a smart mouth and a sarcastic attitude on him. She lightly pressed a finger against a bruise, issuing a yelp from the blonde. "The nurse does not appreciate sarcasm from the patient."

"No kidding," Jace said with a pout. "I liked the nurse better when she was giving me the royal treatment."

Clary ignored his comment and looked over his body. Her lips fell into a slight frown. "Damn, Jonathan really worked a number on you."

Jace's face lost that calm and smug grin, replaced with a blank expression that was harder to read. "Jonathan, huh?" he said warily, as if he were testing the waters for sharks. "You know that guy pretty well?"

Clary's shoulders drooped. "To my great misfortune." She looked back up at Jace's face and tilted her head. "Didn't Jordan or Maia tell you?" The golden blonde shook his head, eyes filled with both curiosity and a hint of… jealousy? _Must be my imagination_, Clary thought. At this moment, Clary wished she had telepathic powers so she could mentally thank Jordan and Maia for keeping her family name under wraps. The art student sighed heavily. "That wonderful, amazing, psycho that you were battling back there was my pathetic excuse of a big brother."

Jace looked up at Clary quizzically, and then realization flashed across his face. "That was your brother Jonathan? The guy you were telling me about?" Clary nodded and wiped away at the last of the blood along his collarbone. "Well, damn, your brother has one hell of a swing."

"Don't inflate his ego any further," Clary warned, wiping her hands on her jeans. The young woman was dressed in a pair of maroon denim jeans, with a baggy V neck sweater that showcased her collar bones and the simple rose quartz stone dangling on a bronze chain. Her hair was in a messy bun that was close to coming loose after her wrestle with her possessive brother, strands draped across the surface of her skin. "Jonathan's already a loose cannon when he's in the ring, but even when he doesn't have the gloves on, it's like you're walking on eggshells with him."

"I kinda got that impression from him." Jace's face twisted into one of curiosity. He used his freehand to pull loose his blonde hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall against his skin. "Everyone seemed to be real careful around him when I went down there. He had the whole alpha aura about him, and everyone else was just acting like they were his bitches. And then you come in swooping like Xena the warrior princess, and suddenly everyone else is on edge obeying your every command."

Clary tensed. So he had noticed how everyone acted around them. Clary handed the icepack back to the blonde and moved to sit by him, keeping a slight distance away so she wouldn't brush up against his bruises. Her mind was raging an uncontrollable war within her, and she couldn't bring herself to decide what to do. One part of her wanted to spit everything out about her family name and be done with him, while the other side screamed for her to keep everything under wraps and to indulge in this for a little bit longer. To enjoy the ride while it lasted.

"Jonathan and I aren't exactly your typical young single adults," the university student admitted. "Our father has a lot of history with quite a few people that were down the bottom, not to mention the guy that owns this joint." Clary rubbed one eye and leaned over her knees, clasping both hands on top. "I guess that you could say we have a reputation to uphold, you know? Keeping the family name untarnished and everything. He and I have to act a certain way around people to keep them off our father's backs, otherwise he'll come down hard on us with everything he's got."

"Your father sounds like an immoral prick," Jace stated blankly. Clary could sense the underlying hatred for this man that he had never met. _At least I hope they've never met._ "What is he, a politician or something? Because there's no way he'd be that influential if he was just some typical asshole."

Clary barked out a laugh. "I wish. Having a dirty, unscrupulous politician for a father would be so much better to explain to everyone. At least I wouldn't have to hide myself from the public's eyes."

The redhead could sense the shock passing through the blonde. Perhaps she was giving too much away, these subtle hints of hers. But there was some small part of her that begged for the truth to be let free. Somehow, she _wanted _Jace to know.

The art student felt a hand brush up against her cheek, pushing the strands off her face. The same hand – calloused yet smooth, tilted her face towards Jace's own expression, one filled with both worry and desire.

"You don't seem to be looking too well, nurse," he observed softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "Are you feeling well?"

Clary croaked out a laugh, feeling it scratch its way up her throat. "This is so hard."

Jace leaned his forehead against hers. "What's so hard?"

"Everything; my family, my brother, you being here, me, life in general... you. All of this crap laid out before me like some bad joke." Clary had started mumbling. Things weren't good when she started mumbling; mumbling lead to numbness, which lead to carelessness, which eventually lead her to dark and scary crossroads. Another hand wound it's way around her waist and Clary's breath hitched in her chest. Jace's eyes were half-closed, his lashes brushing against his cheek. His eyes were focused on the lower half of her face, more particularly on her lips.

Clary froze._ I know that look._ "Jace… you're injured."

"Do I give a fuck?" he breathed sarcastically. The hand on her cheek drifted across her face and his finger traced the outline of her lips. Clary fought to control the moan that threatened to escape from her lips, especially when his other hand drifted down to her hips. _Take back control of the situation, Clary._

She tried again. "I have a sibling that is pissed off at both of us waiting for me up top."

"And yet you don't seem to be in a hurry to get back to him," the blonde pointed out. His eyes fluttered slightly and his lips pulled up into a smug smirk. "It's almost like you're punishing him for beating me up. I can't exactly let the thought go unnoticed now, can I?"

The redhead shuddered as his face nuzzled its way into the crook of her neck, his lips barely skimming across the surface of her skin. This man was driving her crazy, almost to the point of insanity. Clary moved off the bed and stood face to face with the blonde, trying to muster a serious face. "Jace, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked innocently, placing both hands on her hips. "I'm not doing anything against your will, am I?"

The redhead lips trembled as he pulled her closer to him. She tried to pry his hands off her body, but they had a mind of their own and simply glided up his forearms, feeling the smooth muscle move beneath.

"S-seriously, Jace," she stuttered. His golden eyes had her frozen on the spot as he brought his face to hers, brushing his nose against her own. "Stop playing around."

Jace paused just before her lips, his breath fanning over them "If you can say that with conviction," he challenged with a heavy breath, "then I'll let go."

Clary's lips trembled. In her mind, she had planned the most fluent, most eloquent refusal to get him to believe her and release his hold on her. In her mind, she wanted to stop this from going any further beyond what was allowed, before she crossed the point of no return. Unfortunately, her lips failed to open any wider to speak and her voice box had refused to work.

"Let me go?" she squeaked.

Jace smirked. "Not good enough."

In the span of two seconds, Jace had pressed his lips against her own.

It took four seconds for the shock to reach Clary's brain, followed by six seconds of complete and utter bliss.

Exactly twelve seconds for her lips to begin moving again. Rather than moving against his in protest, her lips developed a mind of their own and fought for dominance with the blonde before her.

Twenty seconds later, her hands slowly ascended up along his torso and around his neck. Her fingers curled up amongst his locks and tugged on them – _hard._

Thirty-seven seconds into the kiss and he began to tug on her bottom lip with his own, all the while tightening his grip on the art student.

Forty-three seconds after his lips meet hers Clary's lips began to get more bold and started biting down none-too-gently on his own lips. The art student grinned on the inside as she heard him moan aloud.

Fifty-one seconds later Clary groaned. His lips had left hers and she'd been left wanting more - only to feel his teeth grazing along her jawline.

At exactly sixty seconds, Jace's hands had drifted around to her back. Clary shivered from the heat of his fingertips as his hand drifted onto the small of her back, her jumper rising up slightly to bare her naked skin against his flesh.

"J-Jace," she whispered in the air.

"Bit busy here," he said against her skin, sliding his lips down to her collarbone.

"_Jace_," she hissed. "I need to go n-now. Before Jonathan decides that he's had enough of waiting around for me."

Clary's mind began to clear up and she tugged Jace's hands off her body. Both of them were doing their best to recover from the brief moment that they'd shared, with Jace's hair looking like a mess, and Clary's jumper hanging dangerously low off her shoulders.

_Knock-knock._ "Clary? Your brother's asking after you," Maia called through the door. "He's got the demon face on again."

Clary adjusted the jumper on her torso and fixed her hair into a high ponytail at the back of her head, the red curls rolling over like waves of fire across her shoulders. She coughed into her hand as she looked at Jace leaning back against the wall, wearing a look of disappointment and yearning in his eyes. Clary picked up the packet of ice by his side and pressed it into his hands. "Please look after yourself," she said quietly before slipping out the door.

* * *

The car swerved dangerously around the corner, narrowly missing the curb. Clary felt her stomach roll within her body, feeling it squish up against one side as the car swung back to normal. Jonathan sped the car up, the speedometer hanging around the speed limit on the dashboard. Her brother was brooding, that much was obvious; she could sense the hatred boiling within his blood, and every so often she caught a glimpse of the demon that lay in wait in those dark black pools. But she didn't care about her brother's mood swings; they were inconsequential to the matter that weighed far more heavily on her mind.

_Jace Herondale…_

Clary had a few past suitors in the field of love. Each of them had brought something different to the game, and Clary responded to each of them accordingly, accepting their feelings with passive pleasure. They never lasted long in her life, primarily because she knew they weren't capable of enduring a lasting relationship with her. Clary let her mind wander over each of them, trying to remember the kisses that had been shared with ghosts of long ago. She'd experienced sorrowful kisses, kisses shared in the heat of the night, kisses that were tender and still testing their purpose, kisses that were full of anger and passion.

But Jace's kiss … His was consuming her mind with perfect clarity, overrunning every crevice, every corner of her mind. Clary shivered at the memory of him, still feeling the shadow of warmth where skin had pressed to skin, where lips had locked together. One word to describe the kiss:

_Legendary._

In all her relationships, not one of them had been able to inspire that much passion and burning desire as the blonde. The blonde had left such a strong imprint on her, body and soul, and she was lost in the memory of them locked in each other's arms.

_Shitshitshitshitshiiiiiiiiittt!_

This shouldn't to be happening. She shouldn't to be dragging things out with the guy, let along kissing him. This was going too far, beyond what she'd hoped to maintain.

_That man will be my undoing._

Jonathan turned the car sharply outside his apartment complex, stepping out just as the car broke to a stop. Clary followed suit and watched her brother all but fling the keys at the valet. His movements were tense, his shoulders hunched up beneath his shirt. The man had showered and changed into a pair of grey jeans, with a viridian green canistro t-shirt that fitted the shape of his form, and a black scarf dangling around his neck. A few of the tenants of his apartment complex sighed as he walked passed, but kept their distance the moment they caught sight of his face. Clary didn't blame them - she wouldn't want to be around him either.

As they rode up in the elevator together, Clary could feel him directing all his rage on her form. She folded her arms firmly in front of her chest. "Jonathan, if you're going to say something, then spit it out already."

"Oh, I'll spit it out all right," Jonathan snarled. He pressed the bright red button on the wall and halted the elevator movement, spinning around to face his sister. Jonathan backed her up into the corner and slammed both hands on either side of her head, bending his head down to her eye-level as he delivered his ultimatum. "What are you playing at, huh? You should no better than to be fraternizing with his ilk, Clarissa-"

"'Fraternizing?' You think I'm fraternizing with him?" Clary said incredulously. "What are we in, a soap opera? Jonathan please, your imagination's running away with you, brother. As if I'd spend a second thought on that guy."

"Don't toy around Clarissa," Jonathan hissed. "Your words may be saying one thing, but your body is another. You think I didn't notice when we were in the car?" Jonathan reached out and took hold of her maroon locks, running his fingers through them with ardent want until they were twisted tightly amongst the curls. All of a sudden Clary froze up as Jonathan pressed his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling softly. "You have his smell all over you, and it's sickening me to see you lower yourself in the clutches of a blueblood."

Clary stayed expressionless and reached up to Jonathan's face. She pressed her hand around his throat and forced him back away from her face. She wasn't stupid – she knew about her brother's sinful desire for. She was repulsed by his need for her, and – in all honesty, a bit fearful.

"Your jealousy is clouding your mind, _brother_," she reminded him. "Get a grip. I'm not so stupid that I would associate myself with a blueblood such as him." She twisted out beneath his arms and pressed the button on the elevator. The metal box continued its ascension up to the top floor, with both siblings returning to their separate halves of the elevator. Clary's heartbeat increased to a rapid pace at the events that had just transpired. She needed to be more careful around Jonathan.

The doors slid open and the pair walked over to Jonathan's apartment. The door swung freely as Jonathan barged in, heading straight into the kitchen to his mini cocktail bar. Sitting on the barstool was a woman of a willowy build with platinum blonde hair spilled out over her shoulders. A laptop was set up along with the blueprint plans Clary had left behind on her last visit.

Clary stiffened. "What a surprise to see you here, Miss Whitewillow."

The Seelie Court representative turned to face the redhead and focused her pale blue eyes on the heiress. "Miss Morgenstern," she replied coldly.

Clary flicked her eyes over to Jonathan. "Another one of your conquests? Or a soon-to-be?"

"Jonathan and I do not share that kind of relationship," Kaelie said coldly, her fingers dancing up and down the keyboard. "Jonathan has employed my services in order to help aid you."

"Wait – you're the hired help?" Clary asked disbelievingly. She looked back over at her brother as he poured himself another shot of vodka. "This is the 'help' you were talking about?"

"Deal with it Clarissa," Jonathan snapped. "Or should we call dear old daddy and tell him that you're refusing to do your job because of some petty rivalry?"

The art student kept her mouth shut as she considered the meaning behind his words. Calling in Valentine was like setting a hound on her heels; the last thing she'd want is for her father to be changing the terms of their contract because of her ineptitude. Jonathan read her expression and nodded. "Now, be nicer to Kaelie here, or I'll drag you up to dad's office myself if I must."

She snarled and moved over to the loveseat in the dining room, flicking her legs up on the armrest. "Since you're here, you might as well tell us how you to plan on making yourself useful."

Kaelie flicked her hair over her shoulder and spun around on the barstool, her body encased in a delicate crisp green lace blouse and black pencil skirt with leather strips lining the sides. She folded one long leg over the other and pointed her stiletto's in Clary's direction. "Jonathan here has explained the delicate nature of the situation, and the predicament that you are in."

Clary snorted. Trust her brother to downplay her role and make it sound like she was in worse trouble than what she really was in. "And you're here because you have an answer for my problem, correct?"

"Of course," Kaelie replied, pulling her laptop on her lap. "I've looked over the layout of the building in the blueprint you've provided, and I must say that things are going to be harder than what I generally deal with."

"I don't want to hear how hard it's going to be for you," Clary lashed out, slipping in the role of Clarissa Morgenstern. "What I want to know is can the job be done? Can your plan be carried out successfully without detection, and without me having to expose my identity to Raphael?"

"Of course, Miss Morgenstern," Kaelie replied.

Clary nodded, feeling her blood pressure lower down to a more acceptable rate. All of this, slipping behind enemy lines, doing dirty deeds for a father she had no love for, kissing a man that she should never have affiliated herself with in the start - it was all crashing down. She straightened up and stood up off the love seat, moving towards the blonde with effortless grace. She fixed kale with a more docile expression and pulled up beside her at the bar. Her brother stared stared across, drink in hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well then, let's go over the details then, Miss Whitewillow. Wouldn't want to waste all your time for nothing."


	24. Chapter 24: What do I do?

**Chapter 24: What do I do?**

_Why?_

_Please tell me why do we worry?_

_Why?_

_Why do we worry at all?_

_Why?_

_Just tell me why do we worry?_

_When worry is never helping tell me_

_Why?_

_Why worry at all?_

"Fudge-cakes!" Simon retracted both hands from the handles of the burning pot, shaking them both in a floppy frenzy and blowing on his fingers. Set It Off echoed through his apartment, and his voice had gone from a manly tenor to a squeaky scream in the span of five seconds. Simon scrimmaged about the bench and found the pair of oven mitt's he'd left on the arm of the single-seat in the living room, muttering to himself over his stupidity. He hefted the metal pot and placed it safely on the wooden chopping board, lifting the glass lid off the pot. The thick, heavy scent of cream and mushrooms drifted through the air, and Simon smiled gleefully at the pot of chicken fettuccini cooked before him.

"Aw yeah, I still got it," he crowed, flexing his muscles and brandishing a serving spoon in the air like a sword. "And she thought I couldn't cook for crap."

He picked up a pair of tongs and began dishing some out into a black bowl for him. Simon picked up his bowl and went into the living room. Lights spilled through the window and he watched as Jonathan's fancy sports car pulled up down the side of the building. Clary moved swiftly out of the car, but not before spitting a few words to the driver of the speed machine.

The brunette sighed and flopped down lazily on the couch. Simon wasn't blind –things were rocky between Clary and the male figures in her family, Luke excluded of course. He had brief memories of the older child, most of them made up of Jonathan acting moody around everyone but his dad. The pale blonde had never been the type to play with others; he was more of a 'me and only me' kind of individual. Being in the year ahead of them, Simon didn't exactly see him a lot back at school prior to Clary's parents splitting up. The few times he did, there was always some other kid being grilled by the teachers while Jonathan cried wolf. The guy had perfected the role of victim to a tee, always ruining the lives of those he deemed 'unworthy' of him. Simon knew that Jonathan had hated his guts – he still did too. The only reason Jonathan never strangled the bespectacled guy was because his friendship with Clary granted him immunity… and a dance with the redheaded devil if he so much as laid a finger on him.

As for her father, well…

Simon had a perfect understanding of the monster that man had turned back into over the course of time.

"I'm back," Clary huffed as she passed through the door. "It sucked and—oh my god it smells delicious in here." She dumped her bag by the door and shuffled like a zombie to the source of the heavenly scent that hung in the air, and practically started salivating at the food in the pot.

'You look like hell," Simon observed. "Rough day?"

"You have no idea," Clary moaned, slumping down on a beanbag by the opening that lead out onto the fire escape. She began to slurp away at the pasta noodle, savoring the rich texture of the meal made before her.

"Well, on the bright side, I got the rent paid for this month and next," Simon stated, slurping the thick pasta noodles in his mouth. "So we don't have to worry about that for a while. Only thing we have to sort out is-"

"Power bill and internet," Clary interrupted. "Don't worry, I've got that lot sorted for this month. I might upgrade the internet contract to the carry-over plan, just to make it a bit easier since end-of-semester exams are cropping up soon."

Simon nodded and rubbed his eyes. Clary still had a rather depressed air about her. "So… Jonathan dropped you off, huh? That's a surprise."

The redhead sighed heavily and pushed herself further into the beanbag. "I'm going to be staying with Jonathan next week."

Simon nearly choked on his food and began spluttering. "W-what? Are you ditching me already-"

"No, you idiot," Clary howled. She picked up the nearest pillow and threw it at Simon's leg, "Stupid – like hell I'm going to move in with that guy."

"Well, what the heck are you staying with that lunatic for?" Simon asked warily. It was so out of the blue for Clary to go spend a night at her brother's place.

"It's just going to be for a few days. We've got some family work that we need to do, and it will only be a couple of late nights from the sound of things. I don't want to have to keep waking you up every time I come in at the a.m. hour."

"Clary. I sleep like the dead. Nothing's going to wake me up at that hour."

"Well, either way, I have to stay over for a bit," she bit back harshly. "Besides you'll have the whole place to yourself. Be grateful for that."

Simon was stumped. Clearly the redhead was riled up over something more than just her brother's hectic demands. She pulled at the skin beneath her eyes and began to tug on her cheeks, whining as she did so. "Sorry for lashing, Si. But it's just – I just want to, like… everything's just so _ugh!_ – You know?"

The brunette stared at the redhead with a blank expression, completely clueless as to what she was on about. He finished the last of his meal and strode over to the redhead, flopping down beside her on the beanbag. He pulled off the Lilo and Stitch blanket hanging off the couch in front of him and wrapped himself like a burrito.

"Lay it on me," he said in a serious tone. The brunette knew that there were times when Clary needed a listening ear, and this was one of those moments. "Tell me everything."

And so she did. Simon nodded at the appropriate intervals, and exclaimed in shock when she regaled him with the tale of she found Jonathan smashing the blonde from the Institute. To think that a guy with his background would end up at Harrington's sent waves of surprise throughout the band geek. Harrington's was an exceptional place to train at, but the place was very low-key, and few knew about its existence. Not to mention the fact that there were thousands more workout gyms within New York with higher ratings than Harrington's.

"Man, maybe someone on the other side of the veils' got it in for you," Simon stated consolingly, patting Clary's head. Poor girl had a lot of things going against her. "At least nothing happened though, right?"

Silence met his inquiry, and Clary squirmed beneath his hand.

"Ri-ight?" Simon queried, moving in closer to watch the redhead's expression.

Clary's eyes ducked down and she slapped Simon's hand off her head. "I might've…" she mumbled the rest of her words beneath her breath.

"What?"

"I might've ki…"

"Huh?"

"Dammit Simon, I kissed the guy! I broke my bloody cardinal rule and kissed the damn dude."

Simon backed away from Clary with wide eyes. _Holy mo-fo… _"How bad?"

"I didn't completely break my rule but still… enough that I won't stop myself from fully discarding that rule and throwing it out the window the next time he tries something again."

In their junior year, Clary had broken up with her back-then current boyfriend, practically treading across his heart and tearing his ego to shreds. From Simon's perspective, the guy was a right old git but even then, Clary had been inexplicably cruel during the break-up process.

_"__So… you ditched old Samuel, huh?"_

_"__Yep."_

_"__On the eve of our junior prize-giving too. Kinda harsh, don't you think? I heard he was planning a road-trip and everything."_

_"__He'll survive. He had plenty of girls swimming over to mend his broken heart when I broke the news."_

_"__As your best friend in the world, I feel it is my absolute right to know why you made him cry like a toddler. For the sake of all males of course, and to warn any guy that tries to chase after you again that you're crazy as hell."_

_The teenaged Clary held up a slim finger and straightened up into a regal position worthy of a queen. "One, the guy was invading my personal space. Two, he was getting extremely clingy insomuch that he started having hallucinations of you and me having sex every time I went round to yours."_

_"__Geez, really? As much as I love you, Fray, I have no interest getting into your pants. Redheads aren't my go-to type, and I have too many traumatic memories involving your behind."_

_"__Love you too, Simon. Way to make me feel good."_

_'__It's the truth."_

_"__Wouldn't want it any other way. Well, he was starting to hit the possessive phase, and pretty much every guy I made contact with, he assumed I was trying to hook up with. Finally, I'm thinking about removing myself from the dating market permanently for a while. I've got too many things to focus on at this point, and with finals and University applications to fill out, and my father coming back into the picture, I just…"_

_Simon looked back at the stressed out redhead with comforting eyes, He knew what she wanted, and she didn't need to spell it out loud. "So… what are you going to do about it?"_

_The redhead held her hands up determinedly, and smacked both of them together. "I'm swearing off guys for the next few years. No love life, no dating life, no action in the field until I get my crap sorted with my father. He wants me to do some jobs for his… company," she said tentatively, 'and if I do well enough, he promised he'll leave me be."_

_"__So what do you need me to do, then?"_

_Clary spun around to face him on her seat in the library and clapped both hands on his shoulders. "Be my conscience. Don't let me screw up and break my cardinal rule. No kisses, no home-runs, no nothing, okay?"_

Since then, Simon had been keeping an eye out on Clary's non-existent love life. In her drunken stupors, he'd heaved her away from the many males that had shown interest in her and blocked her from the numerous dating websites, both shady and trustworthy. For the last few years, the girl had been resilient and followed Simon's actions with strict obedience, but now—

Now she was willing to throw it all away.

"How serious is it?" he asked.

Clary shuffled about on the beanbag and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know Simon… I'm just so mixed up about everything, and it's killing me inside."

_Poor Clary_, he thought quietly. The poor girl had a lot of things burdening her delicate frame; her grades, the loan she'd dished out from the government slowly building up, her brother and father putting a ton of pressure on her, working early shifts down at the local art exhibition.

"Why don't you just break your cardinal rule then?" Simon pointed out. "If you're seriously that into him, and willing then just go ahead. Guy logic right there."

Clary glared at Simon. "You are terrible at keeping me sober, you know that?"

"Better to keep you happy than to have you walking about like the living dead," Simon pouted. He looked around the room and reached out for a wad of post-it notes. "Pen?"

Clary pulled one out of her pocket and handed it to the brunette. He uncapped the lid and wrote in big, bold writing. "Remember back at high school, when the guys and I use to carry pieces of paper in our wallets. You tried to take a look at it but we wouldn't let you."

The redhead pondered thoughtfully and tilted her head. "Where are you going with this?"

He flicked the pen off with a flourish and showed Clary the message on the pad. Her eyes bulged out of her head and she tried her hardest to stifle a giggle behind her hands. "Are you frickin' serious Simon?'

"Wholeheartedly," Simon replied blandly.

Clary couldn't hold back anymore and howled with laughter. "R-really? Aw, geez, my cheeks are s-o-ore." The redhead looked back at the note and broke out into another fit, her body convulsing in the beanbag chair. Neatly written on the paper was one long phrase that would send anyone into a laughing fit.

Simon owns Clary's Virginity

"Seriously Simon, what the hell?" Clary asked once she'd calmed down. "How is that going to help me with my dilemma?"

'"I'll have you know that this was instrumental in the relationship between Matt and his girlfriend," Simon lectured, pointing his nose up and pushing his glasses back over his eyes. "This particular little thing right here is one of the many bro-codes the boys and I came up with. The thought behind this is that we weren't allowed to fool around with any girl beyond third base – don't give me that look woman. Anyways, no fooling around just for kicks. If we were serious about someone, the only way we could get our 'virginity'/permission for sex back was to perform three acts of heroism."

Clary's eyes turned skeptical as she eyed the brunette. "For real?" she asked genuinely. Simon's face remained the same and Clary's face softened. "That's pretty… impressive of you guys. I'm amazed that you guys would be able to hold out all this time, considering you have all those fan girls chasing after you and whatnot… what the hell Simon? Are you kidding me you asshole?"

Simon couldn't stop the roaring laughter that burss forth from his chest. He fell back on the ground and slapped it, clutching the blanket with claw-like fingers as he gasped for breath. "Hell no girl! Like those guys would put restrictions on their sex life. But we did have claim each others virginities though." Simon sat up and pulled the post-it off the pad and slapped it on Clary's forehead, smiling as he did so. "Those boys are too eager to get some action in their sex life."

"You idiot," Clary mumbled, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Can't believe I bought that."

"Honestly, in all seriousness I think that what happens from now on though will be up to you, Clare-bear. I can give you as many warnings as I deem necessary, but ultimately you're going have to make the final decision about this thing between you and Jace."

* * *

Clary buried herself further in her blankets, her fingers dancing back and forth across the keyboard. She had a report due in two weeks for Art but she still had things to go over before she sent in her final draft and wrote up the real thing. The redhead leaned back against her headboard and looked around her room. Simon's words had made a lasting impression in her mind, and she thought back over them. The post-it note was stuck on the back of her laptop, and Clary smiled at those words written on it.

After their therapy session, Clary had cleared away the dishes and helped Simon choose a few songs for their set list this Saturday before he headed off to bed. They were playing at one of the local jazz clubs that Clary liked to visit every so often, and Simon wanted a few hits that would fit the setting. Clary appreciated her best friends thoughtfulness in regards to the venue. It was a wonder that a girl hadn't snagged him away from her yet.

_Well, maybe not yet,_ Clary mused as her thoughts turned to a dark-haired woman built like a model. Her mind turned blank as she realized what Saturday would bring; another encounter with the golden-eyed blonde himself.

"Why?" Clary whined pitifully. "Why does this have to happen to me of all people? Who did I offend in the pre-existence to earn this life?"

Clary's feelings were a topsy-turvy, a wild hurricane barreling across the land. Her mind lingered strongly on that kiss, the scene replaying before her very eyes. She shivered at the memory of his hands gliding across her body, moving them as if he were a sculptor crafting a fine work of art. His hair was like silk, her fingers threading through them so easily like water. She remembered how heavy his gaze had been, the gold burning their way through her emerald orbs and marking her soul with a signature of their own. His lips had been torturous, claiming every bit of skin available to him…

"Enough Clarissa," Clary stated aloud, silencing her thoughts of guilty pleasure. "It was just a kiss. No meaning to it. He was just a bit dizzy in the head and… spur of the moment, that's what it was."

She let out a sigh and looked back at her laptop. One window had her report opened up in PDF form for her to view, while the other articles from recent events. A heading sprang up in Clary's peripheral vision and she hovered the mouse over the link and clicked it open. An image of Brooklyn dockyards filled the screen, with yellow tape and several trucks parked by a large freight boat. The photo was a little hazy, evidence that it had been taken away from the location where the action was. Clary's eyes skimmed throughout the column and her eyes widened with every word.

**Underground gang empire takes a direct hit**

**After months of investigation, sources have confirmed that earlier on today police forces were circulating around Brooklyn dockyards, where alleged crime boss Valentine Morgenstern was smuggling stolen goods and firearms onto American soil. Eyewitnesses' say that there were numerous police officers on the scene, and that the entire area had been fenced off to prevent any civilians from entering the area. Several rounds were fired off during the event and police brought in over twenty men for questioning at the police station.**

**Recent accounts from unidentified sources have speculated that Valentine Morgenstern was present at the scene and had taken his own life to prevent himself from being taken under interrogation. Along with that, several bodyguards who were within the vicinity fell victim to death after taking their own lives via cyanide pills. Reporters swarmed the Institute building and received a short statement from the NYPD's chief, Commissioner Jia Penhallow, to determine the truth on the matter at hand.**

**"****Yes, we prevented black market goods from entering our city, yes, we have a number of dead suspects within our custody, but until we have identified the deceased bodies this will be a closed case, and there will be no further comments made on the matter at hand."**

**Valentine Morgenstern is the leader of the Underground Empire, a large crime syndicate that has grown exponentially over the past few years, including other criminal gangs such as the Sanguine Clan and the Seelie Court within its folds. Morgenstern is responsible for house fire, which murdered Michael Wayland and his family of three, and the attack on former council member Marian Whitelaw and her entire family. **

**While the head of such a large crime syndicate may be apprehended, it is uncertain how large the ripples in today's actions will spread. Will the police be able to stop such a large criminal world from expanding, or will there be an outbreak amongst the many gangs that could result in an uprising, the likes which New York will never be able to recover from?**

**_Reported by Aline Penhallow. _**

**_*Sources have remained anonymous for viewer discretion_**

Her eyes were downcast as she closed the lid down. Her mind was battling one idea after another, adding more distress to the chaos that ravaged her mind.

_Vroom-Vrooommm! Vroom-Vrooommm!_

The redhead looked over at her phone, watched as the screen identified the caller I.D as a blocked number. She gulped and reached out towards the phone. Clary slid the bar across the screen and slowly pressed the phone to her ear.

"_Clarissa._"

Her breathing decreased to a tragically slow pace, and her body froze up as the voice echoed in her ears. All former hopes that she might've had before were dashed and blown to smithereens, the pieces flung to the dark corners of her mind.

"_I trust you've seen the articles by now,_" he continued casually. His voice was smooth and continuous, a deep baritone that would render most women speechless and utterly besotted with his speech alone. "_I'm simply here to remind you that I am indeed still drawing breath, despite what the press are saying about me, and that are contract is still intact."_

Clary let out a long breath before answering her father. "I knew it was too good to be true," she joked humorlessly. "Jonathan already explained to me what he had to do to protect our precious family that you treasure so much: sacrificing a portion of your merchandise, blackmailing an innocent civilian who bore an uncanny resemblance to your personage, and of course persuading all those people to die for a greater cause. It wasn't until I read the article that I knew for sure you were still alive."

"_How so, daughter of mine?_"

"Mainly, the fact that you took the cowardly way and committed death by suicide was the big hint in the article. Valentine Morgenstern wouldn't die so easily; you'd ensure your body was being bathed in a bloodbath before you drew your last breath." Her father chuckled on the other end, entertained by how well she knew him. "I thought we had a deal regarding contact—"

"_Allowances such as this can be made,_" he replied stoically. "_I wasn't aware that Jonathan had already contacted you about this matter. You should be rejoiced that your flesh and blood still lives. Family is important after all, Clarissa._"

The redhead rolled her eyes at her father's response. "Of course," she replied courteously. "Is there anything else you wish to share with me, father?"

"_Nothing at all. Continue with the mission and do not fail me._"

The line went dead and Clary slowly pulled her hand away from her ear, staring at the small screen before her. Anger slowly built up within her and in a heated frenzy Clary threw her phone on the floor, watching it bounce and crash among the items scattered on the floor. Her eyes blurred up and she shoved the laptop to the side and huddled beneath the blankets, burying her head in the pillow.

And then she screamed.

She screamed until her lungs stopped working.

And then she cried, wishing, not for the first time, that she'd never had this life in the first place.

* * *

_**I needed a bit of happiness in this one, so I thought I'd make things a bit more happy for this chapter. I was contemplating "Simon stole Clary's Virginity" but then I thought "Nahh, people might get the wrong idea". Hopefully those of you who've been pestering me about the whole Valentine ordeal will be at ease by this chapter.**_

_**Sidenote: The Virginity card is based on real life events. My guy mates had this gag between them where they stole each other's virginity and wrote it down on a paper e.g. "Aiden's virginity" and they'd whip it out if a girl tried to get close to them via a relationship. **_

_**"Sorry, he's mine because I took his virginity"-pulls card out of their wallet "-so get your own man darling."**_

**_To this day, they still have those cards._**

**_Lyrics are from Set it Off - Why Worry (love the-em!)_**

**_Acknowledgement: So i came third in the energizewipawards for "Most Promising Mortal Instruments Fanfic" and I'd like to thank whoever nominated my piece of crap and those who voted for it. _**

**_Also, i'm getting to those ideas people were asking about - i haven't forgotten dear readers. I've already written stuff down for those ideas but its about knowing the best time to implicate them into my story._**

**_Anyhoo, I've places to, stories to write... ideas to steal...jokes! I will not steal ideas!_**

**_...but i might get some inspiration from them._**

**_-Violentkitsune_**


	25. Chapter 25: One on One

Chapter 25: One on One

Inside Club Pandemonium, Magnus Bane was busy working with a number of staff members, going over the number of gigs they were hosting for the next month. Clients were always flocking to his doors, doing anything and everything they could for an opportunity to work with the infamous Magnus Bane. His venues were always open for hire, from hosting dance fundraisers, to school proms and even the occasional charity case. He had a number of reliable staff members doing the best they could, organizing the shifts for the DJ's and the number of bartenders and bouncers required each night.

The biracial man crossed the dance floor and flopped down in one of the booths, leaning against the back of the leather seat as he looked at his phone. Chairman Meow himself was parading across the floor, twisting through the legs of his workers and leaping up on one of the bar stools, flicking his tail in a coy manner. Magnus himself was dressed in far more casual attire, sporting a purple dinosaur onesie with the hood hanging down the back of his neck. He ran his fingers through his thick hair, feeling pleased at the outcome of his visit at the salon. The purple highlights were faded from the scalp onwards, but they added to the mysterious enigma that was Magnus Bane, and he couldn't help but puff his chest out with pride.

Lies. He was a narcissus twenty-four seven. Even Magnus himself admitted he was a total peacock. A luxurious and exotic one at that.

"Mags."

The young man looked up at a woman in her mid-twenties. White hair was twisted in a loose bun, with dark skin covered in a baggy woolen jumper and a paneled knee-length skirt featuring colors like the forest. Catarina Loss gazed at her close childhood friend with an intense gaze.

"Catarina," Magnus said happily. "I didn't know you were coming here. I thought you were still up at Beth Israel."

"I'm not on until two," she stated simply, sliding into the booth across from him. "I thought I might come see how bad this place looks. First time I've actually been to this place."

Magnus smiled. Catarina was an accomplished doctor, graduating from Oxford University the same year as Ragnor and he. She'd taken her skills over here to America and was employed in Beth Israel hospital, using her particular skillset to help out those in life-threatening situations. While she seemed to be calm and collected at first glance, Magnus knew how much she craved for the curiously wonderful things in the world. She was always the first of their group to suggest such wild things, from rooftop stargazing on the dangerous slopes of the university halls of residence, to midnight games of manhunt back with the rest of the Oxford lot.

"Must you wear pajama's in broad daylight?" She criticized humorlessly.

"I'll have you know that this is one of the greatest innovations in the fashion industry," Magnus defended. "Besides, I seem to recall that a certain someone use to cosplay every Friday as an anime heroine."

"My outfits had taste. Culture. They had a meaning behind them. Your outfit here just screams that you were too lazy to look decent."

"I am the great Magnus Bane of Brooklyn," Magnus stated airily. "Even I can make a mere sack-cloth look like the robes of a king. This here—" he gestured to his entire form, "is fashion. Judge me not, heathen."

Catarina rolled her eyes and let a smirk fall on her face. "Ever the drama queen, huh Mags."

Magnus combed his fingers through his hair and changed the subject to something more neutral. "How have you been by the way, Catarina?"

"Same old, same old, you know?" She replied breezily. "Saving lives one accident at a time. Do you have any idea how crazy these Americans are? Always getting themselves in such ridiculous situations. Yesterday I had to deal with a man who had his fingers stuck in a meat grinder."

The wealthy socialite winced, a gruesome image filling up the recess of his mind. "How'd you get the poor sucker out?"

"His colleagues managed to pull apart majority of the machine and we freed his hands. However the nerves in his hand were severely damaged so we had to operate—"

"Interpret that to modern English please," Magnus interrupted.

Catarina huffed and shook the stray white strands out of her eyes. "His hand is alright but he won't be able to fully utilize it for the rest of his life. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

"…Yes."

The doctor rolled her deep blue eyes and leaned against the tabletop. Chairman Meow sauntered along and rubbed against her legs. "Are you feeding him?" Catarina asked worriedly, picking the cat up for her to inspect. "He looks a little malnourished."

"I'll have you know that Chairman Meow receives five-star quality meals everyday," Magnus answered staunchly. How dare she challenge his care-giving skills? What blasphemy. "My cat is in fit condition and is not a bag of skin and bones, as you are so kindly implying."

"Stop reading into things, you drama queen. I just want to know that you've been looking after him alright, especially after Great Gatsby – oh please, are you crying?"

Magnus's eyes were quietly shining and he wiped away before Catarina could make another remark. "Do not disturb the memory of Great Gatsby," Magnus whimpered. Great Gatsby had been his loving grey cat during his years at Oxford, but after a number of years the cat had disappeared. The day of his disappearance, Gatsby had given Magnus and Catarina one last lick, and even let Ragnor stroke his fur before leaping out the window sill into the beyond. "God knows where Great Gatsby is dwelling now."

Catarina rolled her eyes and resumed stroking the small cat before her, the ball of fur purring in content with her ministrations. "I went to go see her last week."

Magnus froze up and stared blandly at Catarina. Her expressions held no sign that she was joking, her eyes completely unreadable. The atmosphere had taken a turn for the worst, cold and somber.

"…How is she?" He asked quietly.

"She's coping," Catarina replied quietly. "No one's been harassing her, and the guards are ignoring her now." A soft smile graced her lips and she looked at Magnus softly. "She's grateful for the books you sent in to her. She said she would've gone mad with insanity if you hadn't sent in Jane Austen to rescue her."

The socialite smiled and threaded his fingers through his hair. Although Oxford held a lot of memories of family, warmth and happiness, there were also dark shadows that lingered, reminders of people who never received their share of happy endings.

"What of… what of Woolsey? How's that guy doing?"

The doctor rubbed her eyes in contemplation. "Woolsey is the same as always, I guess. Wild, but still the same. He's been keeping an eye out on Tess as well."

Magnus nodded and leaned back in the booth. "Was this the real reason you came?" He asked genuinely. "To give me a report on how our friends are?"

Catarina nodded. "I know you send her letters, Mags. And she's truly grateful for that, you know? She was smiling when I came in, and she showed me all the letters she's been collecting over the past year."

Magnus smiled. "I'm glad." He missed his dear friend so much, and every day when he woke up, he prayed to whatever deity that existed in heaven or hell for the safety of his closest friends. "Thank you, for telling me this."

Catarina smirked and reached across to ruffle Magnus's black and purple hair. "What are friends for?"

* * *

After Catarina had left, warning him that he'll be in trouble if Chairman Meow was an unhealthy condition the next time she came to visit, he flopped back in his seat. The entrepreneur looked at the time on his phone and tapped his fingers idly against the tabletop. Alec had scheduled to come meet up with him to see the footage, and Magnus felt a little excited at the prospect of seeing that handsome young man again.

After the fiasco regarding Valentine Morgenstern spreading throughout the city, the NYPD had been under heavy fire from the press, with endless reporters and journalists trailing after the commissioner for confirmation on rumors circulating the streets. Originally, Magnus and Alec had planned to get drinks the previous night, but with all that Morgenstern nonsense piling up, they had to cancel.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Magnus? I'm meeting up with him."

"Over there."

Magnus tilted his head and smiled. Alexander was a rare kind of beauty, with his favorite combination of blue eyes and black hair. He had a nervous aura about him, especially when it came to being complimented and observed by others around him. He was such a shy young man, always second-guessing the opinions that others held for him.

Magnus aimed to change that manner of thinking. For someone with such gorgeous looks, he completely downplayed his beauty, seeing himself only second-best in comparison to that blonde man that Clary had shown interest in.

_Blondes,_ Magnus thought dismissively, his mind thinking back on a past lover of his. _As pretty as they are, they're manufactured with the same traits – pretty, arrogant, and tiring._

The eldest Lightwood sibling wore an outfit that suited him perfectly. The faded blue round-neck sweater he wore over his black shirt succeeded in bringing out the depth of blue in his eyes, although his black jeans were somewhat a little threadbare over the knees. Nevertheless, it was somewhat befitting of Alec's personality; not too outspoken, but not entirely lacking in style.

Alec made his way to the man and his eyes widened in surprise. "A dinosaur onesie?" he questioned.

Magnus stood up out of the booth and held both arms out. "Sometimes the desire for comfort outweighs the high demands for runway fashion."

Alec's eyes dropped down Magnus figure and a bright pink blush crept up along the nape of his neck. Curious, Magnus looked down at himself to see what had set the young lad aflame and smirked. The onesie was a zip-up, and the only thing he was currently wearing underneath was a pair of maroon boxer briefs. The zipper had fallen to just below his sternum and the material had fallen open to reveal his muscular tanned chest.

Saving the poor policeman from embarrassment Magnus zipped himself up, plastered an innocent smile on and gestured to Alec. "You wanted to see those recordings right? From the night that Sanguine member died?" The young man nodded. "Well then, by all means Officer Lightwood, please follow me."

The security room had a number of screens plastered along the back wall, with a sleek black running along the length of the wall beneath. A few computers were set up along the bottom, and there was a cupboard installed in the corner for security to store their stuff. Beside it was a mini fridge, stocked with various confectionary sweets and fizzy drinks for the monitors.

The room had a dark color scheme to it, but didn't give off a claustrophobic sense to it, which was comforting for Magnus. The last thing he wanted whenever he entered a room was to feel like he couldn't breathe.

The pair entered the room and Alec immediately went to the desk, pulling out one of the chairs at the desk. The blue-eyed man looked up at the screens in surprise and jerked a thumb at them. "Is this all the footage from that night?"

Magnus had already taken the liberty of pulling up the necessary files from Pandemonium's party and had them all pulled up on the screens, each of them depicting the same night from a different angle. "I thought I'd make your job easier for you," he replied smoothly. "God knows how hectic things are when you're expected to make order out of chaos from scratch."

The young man blushed again. A sincere smile made its way onto his face, making him far more gorgeous to admire than any priceless painting or runway model.

_"_Mmmhmm."

"Did you say something?"

"No," Magnus said brightly.

Alec turned his attention back to the screens and moved his fingers across the keyboard, playing each of the videos simultaneously and looking for the target of interest. Magnus looked at the screens up above, darting his eyes across one by one. The night had been an excessive one, with an insurmountable number of people flooding the gates of the one and only Bane. Only by looking at the footage now did he realize just how popular he was.

The rookie policeman kept twisting his head, enhancing and reducing the screens that he deemed to be useful for his investigation. There was a certain order to he way he did things, devoting his complete skillset and focus to the attention at hand.

"Anything in particular that you're looking for?" Magnus inquired, leaning against the frame of the desk and looking up at the screens.

Alec tugged at the neck of his shirt. "When Isabelle was talking to the guy, he said that he was getting beat up by a male with white hair. The guy was very agitated when he spoke to her, saying that a young man and another girl were

"So what are you looking for exactly?"

Alec brushed his fingers along the keyboard and enhanced one lone camera angle. "Confrontation and torture."

Magnus's eyes widened. Alec had selected a camera from one of the separate boxes up the top. Though the camera primarily displayed the dance floor, the camera caught part of the balcony overlooking the floor. A man was on a chair, with a tall intimidating man leaning over him. His back was facing the camera and prevented the duo from seeing his face. The young guy had a fearful look on his face while the man looking down at him had fair silver-blonde hair as beautiful as captured starlight, with a strong, lean build dressed in a handsome suit.

Alec froze the frame and stood up to get a closer look at the screen. Magnus watched how his face lit up with a fierce sense of righteousness. There was something moving about the way he looked. His stance conveyed a strong sense of justice as his were determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Do you mind if I take a copy of the footage you have here?" Alec asked, craning his neck towards Magnus.

The socialite waved a flash-drive between his fingers, wearing a coy smirk on his face. "Already taken care of."

Alec pushed the seat away and pocketed the flash-drive from his hands. "Thanks. This just made things a whole lot easier on our end. Hopefully this will put my sister in a good mood and get this case over and done with."

Magnus tilted his head at the young man's words. "You don't sound particularly happy about your sister being involved."

Alec sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. Magnus so desperately wanted to have the pleasure of doing so but remained completely nonchalant as he listened to Alec's take on the matter at hand.

"Izzy is fierce and extremely diligent in her occupation as a police officer," Alec praised with a warm light in his eyes. "She's completely devoted to the job and will go to the ends of the earth to get a case done and dusted. But sometimes, she can get … obsessed with certain cases, especially when she feels guilt-driven by it. Sometimes she feels like she _has_ to complete it for the sake of others."

"But is that not an admirable trait for one to have? To be completely loyal to one's task and to finish it at all costs?"

"It would be… if she wasn't so damn stubborn. She's goes too far at times and ends up overlooking the dangers of the things she's involving herself in. As her older brother, I have a responsibility to make sure she stays safe. That all of siblings are safe, you know? My mandate from heaven since birth, you could say. If she keeps diving headfirst into danger, then I won't be able to live with myself if she doesn't survive."

Alec was in a deep trance, obviously caught between two possible outcomes. On the one hand, Magnus could see how much Alec cared for his sister, and how desperately he wanted to shield her from the backlash that could result from the many choices she made. But at the same time, Alec was forcing himself to step back. He didn't want to ruin his relationship with his sister and force himself upon her, but he couldn't see any other way to protect her.

Magnus's heart leapt within his chest. He wanted to comfort this blue-eyed angel, to give him a way out of this mess. The man with golden skin and tiger-like eyes moved off the desk and stood in front of Alec. He placed both hands on the officer's shoulders and gazed deeply into mesmerizing blue eyes, a mixture of cobalt deeper than the storm-tossed sea with flecks of electrifying cerulean blue that sent shivers to the core.

"Your sister will be fine, Alexander," Magnus said soothingly. "She knows how to take care of herself. Just be sure that she knows that there's a lending hand for her to use if the matter ever arises."

Alec nodded in affirmation, his lower lashes brushing down against his cheek. The young man lowered his eyes and they darkened considerably. Magnus felt his body temperature rise beneath his gaze, feeling a fire spark within him.

"Magnus," he rasped. "Do you have any idea how distracting this outfit is?"

Magnus twitched as he felt a pair of cool hands wander across his bare chest. He looked back down at himself and saw that the zipper had fallen free again, this time ending just above his navel. He looked back at Alec and grinned amorously. Alec's breath hitched in the back of his throat and before he knew it, Magnus was kissing him.

To be fair, Magnus had kissed many men and women throughout his life. But none of them, not even the woman he once thought of as the love of his life, could ever compare to this.

Fire and ice battled one with another, a beautiful chaos that was as old as humanity itself. Alec's lips were more than willing to participate, moving against Magnus's own lips with an eager passion that matched the wealthy entrepreneur's heated desire. His senses were overrun by so many things happening at once; Alec pushing him against the desk, Alec's hands shyly winding their way up and down his chest, Alec pushing the sleeves of his suit back to give him more skin to conquer, Alec this, Alec that.

His chest rumbled as Magnus pried his fingers in the waistband of Alec's jeans, pulling him closer to his body. His hands were deft and quick, sliding up along the sides of the lanky blue-eyed beauty, mapping every aspect of his body. He wanted to learn everything that was Alexander Lightwood, to discover every bit of him, to explore his entire being.

Magnus brought Alec's face up to his and gently kissed him, alternating soft bites between his upper and lower lip. "Aren't you adventurous today," he murmured softly.

"It's the bloody outfit," Alec mumbled, letting out a groan as Magnus fastened his lips to his collarbone, trapping the officer in his embrace.

"Might wear stuff like this more often," Magnus teased against his skin. Alec tasted of lavender and soap, his lips pressed to his beating pulse. "Plenty of easy access. Might start a new fashion trend." In one swift movement Magnus gripped Alec as his teeth grazed Alec's skin. Alec let out a soft whimper, gripping Magnus's tousled hair for support.

The little demon inside Magnus cried out for an encore.

"D-don't you have work to do?" Alec asked breathlessly, his head swimming from Magnus's kisses.

"I have a previous engagement later on tonight," Magnus replied between kisses. "I just came in today because you needed help." Magnus pulled back breathlessly and his eyes sparkled. "Join me."

Alec's breathing slowed down to a more appropriate and his flustered face stared back at Magnus in confusion. "Join you? But won't it be awkward for you to suddenly drag someone along? Especially someone like me?"

_Oh, Alexander._ Magnus could see how uneasy Alec felt about himself. The young man was so inept in the field of love. Magnus put both hands on Alec's face, stroking his jawline with his thumb. "It's nothing serious," he promised the young policeman. "Just a band performance at a local jazz club with a few friends. No fancy suit or politicians floating about if that's what you're worried about." His lower lip dropped into a pout. "Please come? It'll be our make-up for Taki's. I promise you'll have a good time."

Alec blinked his eyes, pondering Magnus's words. Magnus truly wanted Alec to come with him that night, not because he hoped to resume their session later on, but he wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know what his likes and dislikes were, what his aspirations in life were, whether he was a reckless child in his younger days. Although that last one sounded too ridiculous to apply to Alec. He wanted Alec to know that he was serious about him - he wasn't coming onto him just for his pretty face. He wasn't dumb; Magnus knew that many jealous ex-lovers had bragged to anyone with a listening ear about the scandalous affairs of one Magnus Bane.

"Okay," Alec replied shyly.

Magnus Bane, renowned business entrepreneur and high-class socialite of Brookyn, New York, smiled and placed a chaste kiss on Alexander's nose. 'Thank you for accepting."

* * *

Alto Bar was a rather posh place, to say the least. The venue itself could hold a maximum of three hundred at best, making it rather small on the overall scale of social popularity throughout New York. On the outside it seemed quaint to the naked eye, nothing too impressive to look at. The interior of the venue however…

That was something else entirely.

"It's only one shot!"

The inside of the venue seemed to have been teleported from a bygone era, where the streets of new york were littered with night time parades, and men dressed in pinstripe suits while women spun about in flapper dresses with glittering sequined headbands.

"No, you lot are on tonight and I will not have my best friend getting tipsy and spewing all over the floor."

The inside of the venue had several tables spread out throughout the room, each facing towards the stage that was lit up with dimmed spotlights, with Edison lamps embedded along the walls. Each table had an alternate centerpiece of a old lamp, with fresh flowers nestled around the outside of it. The tables were based around the outskirts of the dance floor, paneled with polished mahogany wood. The stage was raised three feet off the ground, and speaker boxes were placed at the bottom to blast the music through the air.

"Please? You know that we have to have this."

Vinyl records hung along the walls, depicting some of the greatest one-hit wonders of all time. The skylight overhead spilled its pale moonlight onto the floor. Up the stairs just a little was the game room, set up with dartboards, pool tables, and several waiters holding freshly dealt card packs at the ready.

"No. No, I won't have it. I am classified as a regular here and I will be forever shamed if you guys make a mess."

The members of Changeling were lined up at the bar, each of them pulling their own rendition of the infamous puppy-dog face at the stoic redhead seated beside them. Eric wore black jeans and had a brown leather jacket thrown over the top of his shoulders, while Kirk wore a long sleeve shirt with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie hanging loosely off his head. Matt had a long-line grey cardigan on and wore his signature goofy smirk, holding his hands high from a kneeled position. Finally Simon stared up pleadingly at Clary with puffy eyes; he wore dark chinos with brown suspenders over a white shirt and waistcoat, with a black fedora tilted skew atop his head.

"But it's tradition!" they pleaded with one voice.

Clary looked down at them coldly from her barstool, refusing to yield to their pitiful cries. Her hair danced about her face in soft wavy curls that cascaded down her back. She wore a burgundy high neck Victoriana dress paired with black stockings and maroon timberlands that threatened to stomp on their hands. The hemline skirted around her knees and she glanced at the fours boys prostrating themselves before her.

"Again, no," she growled, darting her eyes throughout the club. The club was fairly busy, with people dancing on the floor to the eight o'clock band that was currently performing on stage. People were lounging about and feasting on the food available on the menu, while triumphant cries could be heard from the winners up in the games room. Thankfully, no one paid too much attention to the boys before her. The last thing she needed was for everyone to think that they were begging her for an orgy party.

All four of them threw themselves at her feet, looking up at her with despair.

"Get up off the floor you idiots," she groaned.

All four men shook their heads defiantly. "Either you let us have our warm-up drink," Eric whined, "or we start acting like total douchebags! Who cares if the ladies don't want us?"

"I care!" Kirk objected. "But still, c'mon Clary! We have to do this! It's the bro-code tradition."

Clary stared down at each of them with a cool expression. All four boys had such goofy sad faces, pouting and blinking at her with big, glassy eyes. As if that could crack her resolve. "You guys are staying sober tonight," she ordered, spinning on the chair. Nothing could break through to her. She had an iron will, one that would not be broken through so easil-

"What about 'Reeses Pieces'?" Simon offered. "The guys have a bucket of that backstage."

Clary's eye twitched. Just as she was on the verge of downing her cherry coke drink, Simon had to throw the bait.

_Iron will. Iron will. Iron will. Iron will. _"Not a chance boys."

"That's not all!" Eric cried out nervously. He stood up and rushed over to a bag that he'd stashed at a table, bringing it back to them group. Recognition crossed over Kirk's face and he cried out in defiance. "Eric you can't! That's my last on—" Matt and Simon grabbed ahold of the band geek, preventing him from going up to stop Eric. Matt held his hand around Kirk's mouth and nodded silently at Eric.

"I'm sorry boys," he cried. He dug his hand inside the bag and pulled out a 750 ml bottle of chocolate milk.

Not just any milk.

Whitaker's chocolate milk.

Unlike other chocolate milk, this was the good stuff. It literally tasted like someone had grabbed a block of chocolate and had melted the damn thing into liquid form. Even when you added normal milk to half a bottle of the stuff, you could still taste milk chocolate on your tongue. The first time Clary had tried the stuff, her insides had melted from the pure taste of it, and she'd fought off many who tried to get a taste.

The mere memory of it practically made her foam at the mouth.

She grudgingly set her glass down on the bench and held out her hand for her trade. The moment she had the bottle back in her hands she pulled away as fast as a bullet before they could change their minds. Her entire persona changed as she looked stowed the bottle away in her bag and she smiled sweetly at the band. "Go ahead you guys," she cooed. "I'll pay for it."

The boys yelped gleefully – although Matt seemed somewhat discordant about the way the matter was settled, and sat down at the counter.

"Bartender!" Eric cried. "Four Zombies." The boys stared at each other with competitive stares, and Clary cursed herself for what she'd just agreed to. She would not be responsible for any stupid stunts they pulled during the night.

She silently forked out the money from her wallet and handed it over to the bartender. "For these idiots," she gestured to the group beside her.

She stood up and left the boys to their drinks, heading over to where their bags were. She dropped it off at the table and leaned against one of the chairs, looking at the strangers twirling to the music playing through the air. This was her kind of zone. She was a vintage girl at heart, finding delight in the fashions of long ago, and the amazing places that existed one upon a time. Her idea of a dream date was to go to a drive-thru movie, where movies were played on the big screen, and you could eat popcorn and ice cream from the safety of your own car.

"Excuse me pretty lady," a voice from her side said. Clary turned her head and looked into a pair of dark brown eyes set in a young face with curly tawny-brown hair. The young man before her was a little younger than her, but he held a wide smile on his face. He held out one hand and bowed slightly at the hip. "You seem so lonely, and I wondered perhaps if a dance would cheer you up?"

Clary smiled. Unless he was completely crude, Clary would never begrudge any man who offered her a dance, especially if their manners were on point. "My pleasure."

The man led her out onto the stage and she placed her hands perfectly in his hands and on his shoulder. He spun her around and the pair danced happily, swinging their arms around as they twirled about across the floor. Clary arched an eyebrow in surprise; the guy had moves fit for a bachelor on the ballroom floor.

"You certainly know how to dance," she complimented.

"Took a few classes for my high school proms," he replied with a cheeky grin. "Had to show the ladies at Fair Francis that I had the moves on lock."

"No doubt they were all very impressed,' she praised. "Seems your feet have a good memory."

The young lad grinned goofily as he picked Clary up, twirling her around. She let out a fit of giggles and couldn't help the euphoric happiness that poured out from her. This guy just had a happy air about him – he wasn't trying to flirt with Clary or anything, but rather wanted to make sure that she had a good time. In another tie perhaps, Clary could see herself getting along well with this guy before her.

"Come here often?" he asked.

"Yeah." She tilted her head at his voice. His voice had lilting sound to the way he pronounced his vowels. "You from Ireland?"

"Scotland," he corrected. "Right next door to the land of the leprechauns. Lemme guess - the accent gave it away?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I'm Clary."

"George." He pulled away from her and held his hand out for her to shake. "George Lovelace."

"Nice to meet you George," she greeted charmingly.

As if on cue, the boys rocked their way onto the stage, earning a million and one cries of happiness from the many fans amongst the crowd. "Are you here for Changeling?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah," George said ecstatically. "I love those guys! They're amazing as heck."

Clary smiled on behalf of her books. As goofy as they were, they were more real than half the bands known throughout mainstream media. They had talent, they had the voice, and they had the personality to go with it.

Kirk walked up to the front of the stage with a crooked smile on, waving at the crowds below. Eric counted a four-beat intro and started beating away on the drums, while Matt began to work his magic on the keyboard and started rapping the lyrics.

_Somebody gimme one more cuz I just ran out  
__I don't go to the clubs and I don't stand out  
__Balls to the wall in the basement partyin'  
__Doesn't matter what bar we in or what car we in  
__Big Red on the 1s and 2s,  
__Now I know just what to do  
__Start goin' buck wild cuttin' up the rug  
__In the middle of the music dealers living room  
__It's like "BOOM"  
__How ya like me now?  
__Fans do the wave so I surf the crowd  
__Speakers blown cuz we get so loud  
__Never sell out but our shows sold out  
__Get 'em like "HEY!"  
__Gettin' torn up in the middle of the day  
__Radical Something, you know what they say:  
__"Once you get a little taste then you'll never be the same"_

(Kirk) _Step right up, it's the last night  
__It's the last night, it's the last night  
__In the city of lights  
__It's the last night, it's the last night  
__It's the last night,  
__To do what we came to do_

The crowd started going wild as the atmosphere relaxed into a more calming zone, with everyone losing themselves to the music at hand. Clary bid young George farewell as he was whisked away by another girl, eternally grateful that he'd asked her to dance. She twirled her way off the dance floor, kindly declining the offers of other men who pleaded for a dance with her. As much as she loved to dance, she needed to let her feet every so often. She looked back at the bar where her best friend was residing and tilted her head in surprise.

"Clary!" Isabelle waved frantically.

The dark-haired woman was a stunning figure of beauty and badass. Isabelle was dressed to the nines, sporting a plum long-sleeve cut out dress with a thick white-gold chain looped around her slender neck. Her fell in soft waves across her shoulders, a dark curtain framing her fair skin and dark lips. Her make-up was astonishing, simple but enough to enhance her features to the max, with retro red lips pursed upwards in a playful pout.

"You look adorable," she complimented, reaching out to play with Clary's soft curls. "I love the Timberlands."

"Thanks." Clary suspected that Isabelle's words were sincere; in her life majority of people that were beautiful never put much meaning in their compliments. But somehow she didn't get that feeling from the police-woman. She looked down at her shoes and widened her eyes at the four inch white strappy heels. "Aren't those had to walk in?" she questioned worriedly.

"Nah, I've walking in heels since the day I turned fifteen," she said in a blasé tone. "It'll take a lot more for me to fall down than just mere heels." She flicked her hair carelessly off her face and glanced coyly at Clary. "Who was that guy you were dancing with?"

"Just some young, lovestruck boy," Clary sighed. "But alas our love was not meant to be. He is much to young to be a contender for my heart," she belted in a dramatic tone as she flung her hand over eyes, "And another young maiden captured his attentions and turned him away from my sights. Oh how I shall miss his goofiness and his... brown hair."

Isabelle smirked at Clary's dramatic flair while Simon was choking back his laughing fit. Clary tossed her hair over shoulder and held her arms out for praise. "I know. My skills are so on point." She sat down by Isabelle on another barstool and looked at her nails. "So... where are your siblings?"

"Alec's off doing god knows what tonight, and Jace is walking around somewhere," Isabelle said frankly.

Clary nodded and folded her hands across her chest. With Jace's kiss and Jonathan's tantrum still fresh in her mind, Clary wanted nothing more than to avoid future circumstances where she was all on her lonesome with the golden boy. One kiss was enough to leave her wanting more; another would only spell out disaster.

'I'm sure we'll see him some time tonight," Clary said off-handedly. She looked back at Simon, who hadn't uttered a single word since she came over, his face a bright blushing pink. "Did Simon tell you he was singing tonight?"

"No," Isabelle said in confusion. She turned her face back to the bass player and tilted her head. "Are you actually singing tonight?"

"Y-yeah," Simon stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Isabelle exclaimed joyfully. The two broke away into their own conversation, completely forgetting about Clary's presence. She didn't mind. From the looks of it, Simon looked like he was sincerely surprised by how Isabelle was interested in him and his band. She kept firing questions, and he would give long lengthy answers to which Isabelle would listen to attentively. Clary was surprised by Isabelle's behaviour.

_More ammo for our catch-up later on,_ Clary thought evilly. Her phone went of in her pocket and she pulled it out without looking at the caller I.D. "Bonjour-"

"_Where are you?"_

Clark's good mood disappeared in an instant. She looked at the couple before her and ever so slowly crept away from them, holding her phone to her chest as she made her way to a secluded corner of the bar. She breathed in deeply before holding the phone up to her ear. "Why do you need to know where I am?" She demanded coldly. 'We have nothing planned until next wee-"

"_There's been a situation about the dockyard incident._"

Clark's heart stumbled about in her chest and her mind jumped to a million and one conclusions. "Did someone find out?"

"_No. But the man who provided the men for the cover-up, Mortmain, is calling us out for recompense for wasted goods. I paid him prior to the set-up, but now he wants more for his silence. If we don't shut this thing up, then father will have to intervene. And you know what happens to those who fail to smooth everything out on their own."_

Clary shuddered at her brother's words. Valentine was strict when it came to business, and if you screwed up once, then the punishments he heaped upon you were crippling. It didn't matter if you were his most trusted underling or if you were family - if he had to get involved, then your life was good as gone. She felt herself slip into her Morgenstern persona as she asked her brother, "What are you planning?"

"_I've set up a meet with Mortmain for negotiations tonight. We start off civil but if things go off-track and he starts being too persistent, well... I'm sure you know what we'll have to do._"

The young redhead massaged her scalp. The meaning behind her words wasn't lost to her. She cast her eyes about the club, looking at all these carefree people. She looked at the boys as they sung their hearts out, at Simon who was being dragged by Isabelle out onto the dance floor. "I'm at Alto bar," she said hollowly.

"_I'll be there in an hour. Be ready for my call." Click._

Clary pushed the phone back into her pocket and moved with as much energy as a snail. With the events to come, she'd need a little something strong to help her get through the night. She moved along and collided with a figure, banging her head against their chest.

"I'm so sorry," she grovelled. "I should've looked where I was going and-"

"Clary?"

Her bloodstream froze and her heart paused its beating. For a few seconds she was suspended in time as that voice fell across her ears. Her heart resumed its beating and went three times as fast as possible, her cheeks flaring up. She looked up at the man before her and winced at the extraordinary man before her.

_Why? Why do you have to be here at the worst timing possible, looking so bloody beautiful while you're at it?_

Jace Herondale stood in all his perfect glory, staring down at her with soldering gold eyes hidden behind hooded eyelids. His golden curls were in relaxing, tousled manner, with a few strands falling across his face. He wore grey trousers that were a little tight around his legs, with a black v-neck on that showcased tantalising tanned skin and collarbones. Thrown over the top to complete the outfit was a dark cobalt blue blazer with the sleeves rolled partway up his arms.

"Just the woman I was looking for," he said in a husky voice. He slid his hands off her shoulders and help them away from her petite build. His eyes held in a trance-like state and she felt a fervent heat rise from within.

'W-what do you need with m-me Jace?" She stuttered tragically.

He backed off slightly, wearing that same smug grin and bent low at the waist, holding one hand out invitingly towards her. "Dance with me."

* * *

**_Review. Rate. Whatever you want. I'm too tired at this point._**

**_Lyrics - Step Right Up by Radical Something_**


	26. Chapter 26: I'm Giving In

**I.**

**Am.**

**BAAAACCCKKK!**

**I'm so sorry for taking forever you guys *kneels down at the shrine of the fanfiction universe. Had a massive mental block when it came to writing this chapter. I had several other ways for this chapter to go, but this one will do for now. **

**Before we continue, I would like to thank a few people - Smokingwinds, Dimples-3, for the *ahem, 'that-which-must-not-be-mentioned'. Some of you may be aware of 'that' and if you are... keep it on the DL. **

**To my faithful followers, thank you for enduring the long wait. I know that this is pretty hard for you since I'm always checking my inbox for new story updates, so I feel for you people.**

***fistbump through the screen to all you good people**

**I have another TMI fanfic called It's a game of Riddles if you want something a bit more humorous to read while waiting for the updates on this story. Since I'm back at Uni. this semester i'll probably aim to make my chapter content longer, that way you don't have to wait forever for stuff to update.**

**Relax, kick back, enjoy, and R&amp;R please.**

* * *

**I'm Giving In**

Jace had always been on the receiving end of things.

Women were the ones that always made the advancing move towards him. People all made special exceptions for him because of his good looks and the confidence that radiated from him.

At school he was an all-round bad boy, reigning as supreme ruler over the social hierarchy that existed within his school; girls were always lining up one after another at the school dances and neighborhood parties, always trying to grab his attention by buying the things he set his eyes on, or giving him free food and whatnot. Guys were always inviting him to the latest parties, offering him a free ride for him and his siblings, doing anything and everything to have the Almighty Herondale as their friend. He was the one that held the deciding power in his hands, the ruling judge whose choice made all the difference in the lives of others.

And yet here he was, waiting with bated breath for this one girl to say yes to him.

Looking back on his high school days, he had to hand it to all the girls who had the courage to come up to him. It was nerve-racking, waiting for the answer that could make or break you.

Clary had yet to answer him, staring up at him with a face that was comprised of surprise and shock. "Eh?"

"One dance, Fray," Jace repeated. "That's all I'm asking for."

Clary kept gazing at his hand skeptically, as if her mind was engaged in a conflict of interest."I don't know," she said softly, a light teasing note in her voice.

"Aw come on," Jace said with a crooked grin. _Please stay. I've only just found you and I don't want to let you go. _"Surely Cinderella can spend a few minutes on the dance floor before midnight rolls past."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her plump lips. "Maybe Cinderella has a really urgent matter to attend to. And she wants to be on time before her carriage turns back into a pumpkin."

_There we go,_ Jace thought triumphantly. _Now we're getting somewhere. _"This dashing rogue, rebellious prince promises not to keep Cinderella any longer than necessary. And he'll gladly give her a ride if the horses start squeaking by the time she gets out."

"Cheeky," Clary teased. She stilled had a hesitant look on her face, so Jace changed tactics and went for something a bit more neutral.

"Well, how about a drink instead?" Jace offered, pulling back his hand and spreading his arms. "My shout."

Green sparks flickered behind Clary's eyes and her smile softened, becoming more innocent and surreal. "Why are you so persistent and so eager to have me around, Herondale? Surely there are plenty more candidates vying for your attention."

While her expression was one thing, her voice was another matter entirely. Her confidence wasn't as strong as it usually was, and she didn't seem so vibrant. Jace didn't want to see her look so discouraged. He wanted, no – _needed_ to make her feel better. He wasn't going to let her leave the jazz club tonight until she had a smile so bright that it defied the glory of the sun.

Feeling brave, he moved closer to the petite woman and grazed his fingers along her jaw, watching her eyes flutter helplessly. "I don't want those women, Fray," he said softly. Her cheeks flared up beneath his touch and he allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips before he removed his hand. "Besides, you look like you could use a pick me up."

Clary snorted and flicked him on the forehead. A sincere smile graced her face and she arched one eyebrow high over her eyes. "You asshat." She brought her arm up and tucked it in the crook of his elbow, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. "If we're going to have a drink, then I'm the one that's shouting, alright? And there will be no arguing or sneaking the wallet out of your pocket, _comprende?_"

"_Si, Madame_ Fray. Anything for the beautiful lady."

* * *

After a few drinks, the pair were more visibly relaxed, indulging in each other's company. The tension had gone from Clary's shoulders, and she laughed as she listened to Jace regale her with tales from his youth. Neither of them chose to drink any of the alcoholic beverages, which was a plus since Clary had no intention of going near the 'devil juice', settling for chilled bottles of ginger beer.

"In all honesty," Clary said as she gestured for another bottle, "I don't think I was ever that much of a trouble in my household. Sure I knocked a few things over, but what kid…in their right mind… would go ahead and start drawing mustaches all over the photo's in their house?"

"Hey, it was a dare, and I had to fulfill it," Jace defended, taking another swig from the bottle. "I'm a man with integrity, and I like to keep my end of the bargain."

"I think by integrity, you mean pride," Clary teased, digging her elbow in his side.

Jace smiled warmly, turning his eyes to the shelves filled with bottles. They were all enchanting in a certain way, organized via color coordination along the wall like a frozen rainbow.

He turned to face the charming redhead and braced one hand against the bar. "So, what was your high school like? A rerun of Mean Girls or The DUFF?"

"Contrary to what social media would have you believe, we didn't exactly have a social pyramid in our school," Clary stated. "The place was kinda like my second family."

"Please tell me you're joking," Jace spoke bluntly. "No school's like that."

"Well mine was," Clary responded with a cheeky grin. "Mt. Albert is a public school, and it had a terrible reputation at that for being too 'laid-back' and 'full of hoodlums. Freshman year was all right, because the seniors' were actually nice and didn't treat us all like turds – not to mention they had a lot of family in my year so they had to be nice. Sure the resources weren't that great, but it was still pretty awesome. The teachers weren't exactly your typical monsters' there – they actually treated us like adults and gossiped about everything just like the rest of us."

The redhead sighed nostalgically as she reminisced on days gone by. "The one thing I loved about that place was my cohort. Everyone had their little clicks like the geeks and drama students and sporty dudes, but we all got along so well with each other. Someone who was classified as a nerd could casually hang out with their circle of friends one day, jump cruise ships, hang with the jocks, and it would be as if they'd been best friends for the whole of their lives. We all stuck up for one another and celebrated everything together. If someone's birthday was coming up, we'd get together in the common room, blow up the speakers, and have shared lunch and everything, regardless of who it was."

Jace couldn't fathom the redhead's words. Her school sounded like something you'd find in a myth or legend. It was leaned into towards the redhead, brushing that same curl she blowing before off her face. "That sounds like a miracle school."

The music behind them slowed to a stop and they turned around to face the stage. The lead vocalist – Kirk, surveyed the crowd and shot out a smile to all their screaming fans on the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, beauties of all ages," Kirk swooned. "We are Changeling and we are ever so grateful to have you guys out here to see us tonight." The room thundered with laughter and praise for the boys on stage, and Kirk ruffled his hair at the amount of support they were receiving. "We have a surprise for you guys tonight. Our Rift God, Simon Lewis, has little secret talent of his and we decided, after many hours of him begging and pleading with us—"

"Lies!" a voice called from offstage. "You guys blackmailed me into doing this—"

"Can you not!" Kirk barked to the voice offstage. The entire room roared with laughter at the slight argument occurring onstage. Kirk straightened out his shirt and continued to fix the crowd with a winning smile. "As I was saying, after many hours of him begging us, we've decided to let our baby boy give you a show of his own. Please welcome the Rift God and soon-to-be Vocal Seducer, _Simone_!"

Women started to cheer, as Clary's flat-mate strode across the stage, red-faced and ready to throttle the lead vocalist. Jace could hear Isabelle's voice cut right through the crowd as she cheered the young man on. Kirk chucked the microphone into his hands and quickly dashed to the back of the group, holding both thumbs up and sticking his tongue out at the brunette.

"Hey pretty thang – wanna shake it on the floor?"

Jace's attention was diverted as a strawberry blonde punk sidled his way up to Clary. Any respect that he may have had for this man was flung out the window as he eyed the lecherous look on the guy, black beetle eyes leering at the redhead by his side. _Is he blind or just a complete obnoxious idiot?_ Jace cursed mentally.

Before he could make an outburst, Clary reached her hand out and clasped Jace's palm in hers, leaning against his shoulder as she smiled kindly at the guy. "Sorry, but I'm already taken for the night."

The guy looked dubiously at Jace, his eyes shifting in suspicion. To sweeten the lie, Jace propped his chin on top of Clary's head, swinging his other arm around her waist. He smiled darkly once the guy realized his luck was run dry and went away with a pissed off look on his face.

"You'd think the guy would've worked a bit more energy into his pick-up line." Jace felt the vibrations move throughout her body as she spoke, and tightened his arm around her waist. Her hair had that same deliciously addictive scent of strawberries and raspberries, a scent that he'd come to identify as Clary. "Can't blame him for trying. After all, who wouldn't want to go after a beautiful woman such as yourself?"

"Shut up Herondale," Clary moaned. Despite her outburst, Jace could hear a hint of a smile in her voice and he smirked triumphantly.

"For the record, those guys—" Simon gestured behind him on the stage, "were harassing me day and night for a long time now to get in front of the microphone." Chuckles spread through the crowd and the Lewis guy tilted his hat on his head as he stuck the microphone back into the stand. His glasses were off, probably placed somewhere backstage. He let his gaze linger on the crowd, losing that nervous energy and smirking away like a player on the hunt. Jace could see that there was a difference in this Simon; without the glasses., he radiated confidence and seemed to put even the most secure man on edge as he watched the crowd with hungry eyes. "Let's get this on the road, shall we?"

Kirk emerged with an acoustic guitar in his hands and began to strum an insane song while the rest of the band played their corresponding parts.

"Will Lewis's voice hurt my eardrums?" Jace mocked teasingly.

Clary pinched Jace's bicep. "No. But it'll certainly send the crowd into a frenzy."

_Girl, just let your hair down_

_Let's paint the whole town_

_Life is our playground_

_But I'm not a kid no more_

_So I must open doors and make you feel like the lad you are_

_My momma raised me to be classy, not flashy_

_I'm happy to please you_

_Though I can tell that's not what you're use to_

_Damn_, Jace thought. _Izzy will be swooning like hell. No wonder she's obsessed with these guys._ He had to admit that the band-geek had talent; there was no denying that. While the lead vocalist had that deep rasp that many females coveted in a man, Simon's voice was much more relaxing and calming, but still brimming with enough vitality to send the girls going crazy.

Jace stood up and pulled the redhead up with him. The redhead barely had time to throw the money on the counter for the bartender as Jace pulled her along with him, making sure their fingers were locked together. There was no way he was going to let this girl leave his side tonight.

Once they made their way onto the floor, he swung her about and draped her arms around the back of his neck. The redhead was flushed with energy as she looked up at the blonde policeman.

"Since you paid, you owe me a dance," he explained, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She tilted her head, her greens eyes sparked up with mischief. "I better make this dance worth your while, huh?"

_And they say, Chivalry is dead_

_(Dead, dead, dead)_

_Girl let a real man pick up the slack_

_And treat you with respect, yeah_

_And you don't have to love me _

_Love me, love me_

_You don't have to love me _

_Love me, love me_

_Just cos' I'm a gentleman don't mean_

_I ain't taking you to bed_

"Well, look at that."

Clary's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Jace looked her up and down with a crooked grin on his face. "I distinctly remember a certain redhead saying she couldn't dance."

Clary hooked her left calf leg around the back of his left leg and leaned back, swinging her arm around his neck and pulling him down with her. They stopped halfway down, with Clary smirking cheekily up at him. _Her eyes… goddamn those eyes…_

Clary brought her freehand up and rested on it on Jace's neck, feeling his pulse beat ten times faster beneath her touch. _"_Dancing in nightclubs? Can't even put one foot in front of the other. But jazz clubs and ballrooms though... that's something else entirely. Play the right music and you'll have me moving in no time."

The blonde looked down at the girl before him, stunned by the confidence that brimmed from beneath her skin. He was starting to learn a lot of little things that made up this mysterious enigma named Clarissa Fray.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Jace slid the freehand that was left out and brought it in, swinging her around back on her feet and bringing her leg up on his waist. An insane grin formed across his face as he heard little redhead gasp. "I guess I need to up my game a bit."

_Ahhh, baby let me buy your meals_

_I see you're head over heels_

_I feel like you deserve it_

_There's no pressure_

_We can do whatever makes you feel comfortable, yeah_

_I could float your boat_

_If you're cold take my coat_

_I'll sing a music note from a song that I just wrote_

_Girl just take me hand_

_And let be your man_

_Though that's not what you're use to_

_And they say chivalry is dead_

_(Dead, dead, dead)_

_Girl let a real man pick up the slack_

_And treat you with respect, yeah_

_And you don't have to love me_

_Love me, love me_

_You don't have to love me_

_Love me, love me_

_Just cos I'm a gentleman don't mean_

_I ain't taking you to bed_

The crowd went wild, wasting away into a state of euphoria. The floor suddenly became sparse as the amateur dancers gave way to those with far more talent in their blood. The circle started getting bigger and wider, with men swinging their partners wildly on their feet, the girls twisting and turning on the dance floor.

Jace couldn't keep his eyes off the girl in his arms. He held his arm up as she spun beneath them, smirking away every time he brought his hand down to her waist and lifted her into the air.

"Who are you Fray?" Jace said wondrously as he swung them across the floor.

"Whatever do you mean?" She said innocently.

"You can bull your way out of a dead end better than a poker player, your appetite barely matches mine, and you're not afraid to get down and dirty and tackle guys bigger and stronger than you." He spun her around, bringing her in tight as he held her hand out. "What next, you use to sneak out and watch midnight drag races on the streets?"

"Actually I use to drift in some of those races," Clary corrected. Jace's face went slack and Clary continued. "Whenever I came up here for the summer, my dad let my brother and I do whatever we wanted, so Jonathan would usually take me out every now and then to some of the street races. Not to brag, but I have a few wins under my belt."

The lower half of Jace's face fell open, his jaw going slack from the shock of this information presented to him. Clary raised one hand and pushed his mouth closed. "Catching flies there, Herondale."

"Marry me."

"Beat me in a fist fight and I'll consider your offer," she bluffed.

"Consider it done. Want a spring wedding, or we should we just elope altogether and go straight to the honeymoon?"

Clary's face blanked out and her eyes bulged out of her sockets. Jace bit down on his tongue as he watched her face turn a soft shade of pink. He was so close, mere inches separating them. All he had to was just lean in towards the girl and he'd be able to taste those sweet lips of hers again…

_That's just how you treat a lady_

_Treat a lady, Treat a lady_

_Treat a lady, Treat a lady_

_Treat a lady_

_Dadadadadum_

_That's just how you treat a lady_

_Treat a lady, Treat a lady_

_Treat a lady, Treat a lady_

_Treat a lady_

_Dadadadadum_

Fingertips danced along the bottom of his lower lip and he closed in eyes tightly as he reveled in the sensation of Clary's skin moving against his own. It was so easy to forget when it came to being in the redhead's presence. The minute he touched her reality fell apart around him until the only thing he could hear was his beating heart responding to the sound of her voice. There was something about Clary that demanded his full attention, a spark that couldn't go unnoticed.

_And they say chivalry is dead_

_(Dead, Dead, Dead)_

_Girl, let a real man pick up the slack_

_And treat you with respect, yeah_

_And you don't have to love me_

_Love me, Love me_

_You don't need have to love me_

_Love me, Love me_

_Just 'cause I'm a gentleman don't mean I ain't taking you to bed_

_And you don't have to love me_

_Love me, Love me_

_You don't need have to love me_

_Love me, Love me_

_Just 'cause I'm a gentleman don't mean I ain't taking you to bed_

_And they say chivalry is dead_

_(Dead, dead, dead)_

Jace spun Clary around and dipped her low as Simon sang the last chords of the song. The crowd erupted into thunderous applause as Simon concluded serenading the crowds with his voice. Jace pulled the redhead upright and they faced the stage to clap for the boys for performing.

"Not bad for a nerd," Jace said bemusedly in Clary's ear. She wrapped one arm around his waist and poked him in the ribs, with that same lopsided smirk growing on her face.

Simon waved his hands wildly towards the crowd and looked back on the band with a goofy grin on his face. He turned back to face the crowd, stealing Jace's trademark grin as he winked out to the crowd.

"I'm surprised you guys didn't cover your ears. Either I'm really good, or all of you are just tone deaf." The room rumbled with laughter at his comments, and the brunette smirked away at their words as he went offside to grab his bass guitar. He skipped over to the microphone stand and threw the strap of the guitar over his shoulder, fixating the crowd with a playful spark in his eyes.

"Let's turn things up a notch, shall we?"

The boys began to play the opening bars of The Cab's hit, 'La La la', sending all the females of the younger generation into a full-on frenzy. Clary had pulled her hand away from his torso and was fanning herself with both hands, trying her best to cool herself down.

Jace bent down and whispered, "Do you need some air?"

She shivered and nodded in response. The blonde policeman took ahold of her hand and kept her close as he led them off the dance floor. A few girls took notice of the handsome gentleman moving towards them, and 'accidently' brushed their hands against his body, from his shoulders to his torso, and even down by his crotch. Though flattered by their attraction to him, Jace couldn't help but feel somewhat disturbed by their bold behavior. Being out in the public, people took advantage of the premises that lead to one-night stands, knowing that they could do whatever they want and know that their partner would forget or ignore by morning sunrise.

Once upon a time, Jace would've jumped at all the attention of these girls surrounding them, taking them and pleasuring them one at a time till his body fell from exhaustion.

But tonight was not one of those nights – he had far better things to attend to.

* * *

The pair darted up through the games room and headed out on the upper balcony where the fire escape connected itself on the right side. They burst through the French doors and breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the cold air dance across their faces. Below them, the streets were littered with cars up and down the straight, with people flocking through the doors of the open restaurants and bars along the street.

Clary pulled her hand away and leaned over the railing, taking in big gulps of air and relishing in the feel of the night breeze tossing her curls about like wildfire. 'It's like an oven in there," Clary heaved, rolling the sleeves of her dress up over her elbows. She could feel how flustered her face was, the adrenaline rushing through from her time on the dance-floor.

Jace had a wild grin on his face, threading his fingers through his golden mane as he let loose a chuckle, one that made her body tremble from the mere sound of it.

_Walking perfection right here,_ she thought miserably.

"When are you leaving tonight?" he ventured.

Clary pulled her phone out of her pocket on her dress. She had one message from an unknown number, stating _fifteen minutes away –J. _"I'll be gone in a good ten minutes."

The blonde nodded and leaned against the iron-wrought railing with one arm propped up. A light breeze passed by, ruffling his gold halo around his face. "Do you have to leave so soon?"

"Aww, missing me already, are we?" Clary teased.

"More than you can say." His face was so serious and sincere, that Clary found it hard to laugh or even tease. Usually she could get a good read on people, but with Jace… he was a whole new discovery.

She coughed lightly and scratched the base of her scalp. "Ahem, yeah I do have to go," she said regretfully, changing he topic back to the original question. "My brother's coming in to pick me up."

The blonde policeman's nose wrinkled in disgust at the mention of her brother, as if the mere thought of him repulsed him. "Why not just cancel whatever you have on, say that you'll go do whatever with him tomorrow?"

"Oh, how I wish it were that easy," Clary moaned dramatically. "Well, for starters, he's already on his way so it'll be pretty rude, considering he's coming all the way from his place. Second, we've got some issues that our father needs help with – urgent SOS situation."

The blonde grimaced and shook a few blonde strands out of his eyes. Clary bit down on her lip as her emerald eyes glanced involuntarily over his form. Her fingers were itching to map the planes of his body.

"You surprise me, Fray," he stated honestly, breaking the silence between them. "I don't think I'll ever meet another girl quite like you."

The redhead chuckled as she moved by the blonde, facing her back out towards the streets. "You got that right. I'm an original masterpiece complete with all the flaws and imperfections," she joked. "It'll take over a million years to find another girl like me."

Jace raised one eyebrow as he turned his head towards the redhead. His gaze was heavy, intense. Clary recognized that same glow in his eyes and clenched her fingers around the railing. She could feel her body responding to that spark in his eyes, yearning for him.

"A million years is correct. Flaws and imperfections though?" He moved closer to her, running his fingertips up the length of her neck. Goosebumps arose where his fingers touched her skin, trailing up until his hand cupped the shape of her neck. "I fail to see any of those things here."

Clary's breath sped up as the space between her and Jace lessened. She pulled one hand away from the railing and brought it up to his chest, placing it right over his heart.

"Jace…" she breathed heavily. "We shouldn't be doing this… _I_ shouldn't be doing this…"

He brought his head down to her, brushing his lips against her temple. "What, are you scared that your brother will barge in and dismember me for being near you? Because frankly, I've seen worse."

Her breath hitched up in her throat as his lips descended lower, from her cheek down the length of her jawline. "No…" she whispered truthfully. She knew her brother could only do so much before invoking the true monster lying within Clary. "But Jace… I'm not good for you."

The blonde huffed and pulled away, cupping her hands in both of his cheeks. He looked down at her with sincere eyes brighter than the sun, gold flames that reached out and nipped at the edges of her soul. "Are you currently in a relationship with some other guy, and therefore using me to get back at him?"

Clary quirked her eyes in surprise. _Really…? _"Of course not—"

"Do you find me attractive?"

Was he really going to interrogate her like this? " 'Attractive' doesn't even begin to describe my feelings for you," she groaned amorously.

"Then why—' he began as he bridged the gap between them, lining the surface of her body against his own figure, "-are you pushing me away?" Clary could register a small seed of hurt hidden away, buried beneath all the bravado, flirtatious, and sarcastic mannerisms. "Am I not making myself clear enough about the fact that you are driving me crazy beyond relief?"

The redhead slid both hands against the tall blonde's chest, feeling the muscles pull taut beneath her touch. Her body had long forgotten what it was like to have a man hold her in such a way, with want and desire, and now her body had reverted back to that of a little schoolgirl's; eager to explore the pleasures offered up to her.

"It's not that," she rasped. Her mouth had gone dry. "Jace, there are plenty of other girls far more deserving than I. Chase after me, and you'll end up with heartache and poison in your veins."

Jace stared resolutely at the redhead, bringing his head down until they were touching foreheads. Clary breathed in deeply – and heavily, as Jace brushed his nose against hers.

"Clarissa Fray," he breathed darkly, "I care not what happens to my heart, so long as I manage to capture even a portion of yours truly. The poison can continue killing me so long as I have your attention."

Just as two sunsets' are never the same, no two kisses are ever alike. They can be slow, teasing, passionate, vengeful, of need and desire, and brimming with hatred and lust. Soft. Sweet. Loving. Domineering. Submissive.

When Clary felt Jace press his lips against hers, she knew she was a goner. Good-bye cardinal rule, good-bye warnings from possessive siblings - good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.

The kiss sparked up and blazed away into a brilliant bonfire. Fireworks sparked in the back of her head as her hands descended below, pulling him by the belt loops of his trousers against her body as she crashed her lips to him. She knew she would regret this some day, but for now she wanted - _needed_ him. Her mind was thoroughly consumed by his being, intoxicating her senses and sending her into anarchy.

His hands crept along the sides of her body until they stopped around her thighs. In one motion he lifted her up, spinning them around until she felt the cold brick wall pressed up against her back. Her hands slithered up around his neck as he pulled her legs on either side of him, digging the tips of his fingers into her stockings. He wasted no time as he moved his lips against hers, barely pulling back for air.

Clary felt a hunger within, and snarled darkly as she pulled her lips back from the blonde. Jace was momentarily confused but suddenly relapsed back into pure bliss as Clary nipped away at the edge of his jawline, moving lower until she was nipping just where his pulse was beating. She felt the blonde struggle as he groaned painfully, and smirked against his skin. She bit down on his throat, purring contently as the blonde gasped in surprise. His hands slid further up her legs, pushing the hem of the dress up slightly. Clary threw her head back against the wall, biting down on her lips and trying so desperately to keep quiet. Her body was in heat, and she needed release.

She opened her eyes and stared back at Jace, their breathing matching the same ragged patterns. He kept on hand gripped tightly around her legs while he raised his left hand to stroke the area where she bit his skin. In the weak light coming through the thin curtains from inside the club, coupled with the streetlights below, she could see that the area was beginning to bruise up and change color.

He looked darkly at her, his eyes consumed with longing. "You bit me."

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling hesitant about that glow in his eyes. "Oops" she said coyly. "Did I hurt somewon's feewings?"

His lips were bruised from their kisses. His hair was tousled and showed signs of their current predicament. "No one," he growled lowly, "-gets to bite me and get away with it. _No one._"

His final words were whispered in a dark tone that sent shivers up and down her spine. He moved in for the kill and bit down in three places:

Her bottom lip—

Her earlobe—

The space just below her ear—

The redhead groaned and shifted her lower body against his pelvis, feeling something stir up in his pants. He continued to repeatedly attack her neck, alternating between gentle kisses and harsh bites around the same area. She snaked one hand down the length of his spine, her hand disappearing under the back of his color and gliding across feverish tanned skin. If Clary wasn't careful, she might just end up throwing everything away for the cop…

_Vroom Vroom! Vroom Vroom!_

_Damn you, Jonathan!_ Clary struggled about in Jace's arms, trying to break from his hold. "J-Jace, I h-have to get going now," she groaned breathlessly.

"Just a little longer…" he said arduously. He came back up and captured her lips in his own, paying close attention to her plump bottom lip. "You're brother can wait…"

Clary moaned into the kiss, clutching none to gently onto Jace's shoulders. He put her down and lifted his hands up to her waist, feeling about for the slight curves in her form. If he was trying to distract her from going away, then he received full marks for doing so.

"Jace," she rasped, her voice growing in volume between kisses. "I really ne-ed to go… right now…"

Jace pulled away remorsefully, his eyes still locked in combat with her emerald eyes. "Must you go?" he asked again.

Clary pulled her hands up and cupped his face in her hands, feeling the sharpness of his jawline, the smooth skin pulled over cheekbones. "Unfortunately, I do."

He placed both hands over hers and gazed imploringly at the petite art student. "Have dinner with me," he pleaded softly. "This week, Thursday night at six. I know a nice place down in Brooklyn, and I'll pick you up for it."

Clary closed her eyes and ghosted her lips over his own, her ragged breathing slowing down to a more reasonable pace. "What will you do if I say no?" she replied teasingly.

He moved his lips up by her ear and slid his hands around to the small of her back. "Then I'll convince you until you say yes."

The redhead bit down on her lips and pushed Jace back, grinning slightly. "Well then I guess it's a yes then," she said breathlessly, stroking his blonde back off his forehead.

Jace smirked and kissed her on the nose before backing away from her. She went to go through the French doors, thought the better of it, and spun around to kiss Jace on the cheek before dancing her way down to the streets.

* * *

"What took you so long?"

Clary opened the door to Jonathan's sports car, sliding down effortlessly into the passenger seat. She'd quickly gone back to the bathroom to fix up her hair, checking all aspects of her body to ensure that there were no telltale signs of her heavy make-out session with the blonde policeman back in the bar.

"Forgive me if I wanted to bid my dear comrades a beloved farewell," Clary said pompously, pinning her hair up on the sides.

Jonathan rolled his eyes and floored it down the street. Clary turned her head back around, catching a glimpse of the golden god standing up top as they disappeared around the bend.

Clary slumped down in the chair, massaging the back of her neck. _What on earth have I gotten myself into…?_

"Whatever you're thinking about, you can worry about that later," Jonathan interrupted. "We have more serious issues to deal with than your mundane worries."

Clary shook herself out of her daydream. _Right. Mortmain. _

"I've got a jacket in the back for you," he stated, gesturing his hand behind him. Clary reached over and pulled a warm, heavy khaki jacket with leather sleeves. She slipped it over her shoulders, feeling it mold to the shape of her arms. The jacket itself was heavier than the norm, due to the light padding lined up within the jacket's torso in an effort to weaken the blow from a bullet.

Clary reclined the seat until it was horizontal and twisted about. The car had been customized by a few mechanics within her father's empire, allowing for a few 'hidey holes'. Clary lifted up the whole of the back seat, revealing a compartment for a few weapons of choice.

She picked out a handful of knives and began to place them delicately inside the lining of the jacket. "What's the approach to this Mortmain guy?"

Jonathan turned a sharp corner, leaving the busy main drag for the quiet back channels. "Mortmain's a materialistic man, so he'll want us to up his price on keeping a vow of silence. I've done a bit of history on the man; he's problematic, his own foothold in New York is on the brink of being absorbed into the Seelie Court, which will force him out of the country back to his stronghold in Britain."

"So he's desperate to keep some form of power here in America," Clary summarized, strapping an army knife against the top of her thigh. She reached out to the side of the compartment and flicked on the light for better a better visual. "Sniper or crossbow?"

"Rifle," Jonathan confirmed. The pale blonde wore dark clothes on his person; dark grey fitted trousers, with black combat boots, a tight black shirt and a fitted leather jacket. He was a striking individual - the embodiment of shadow and moonlight converged into one being. "Quick and easy tonight. Minimal evidence."

"Okay then." The car swerved down the more deserted streets, giving Clary the chance to fully move about as she collected the pieces for the sniper gun. She packed them together in a small bag, trying her best to stay upright as the car sped along the road. "Any back-up?"

"I have a few Cleaners on stand-by. Me and you are the only ones going in to deal with the situation."

Clary bit down on her lip as she packed screwed a suppressor on the rifle. "Desperate man means he'll try to bully us, which means a lot of fire power will be there."

"Mm-hmm." Jonathan brushed his hair out of his eyes and turned the wheel, gliding the car around the tight corners.

"Venue?"

"Abandoned shopping mall."

"The one where they sometimes hold the underground fights?"

'The very same."

"I'm assuming you chose the venue?"

"Of course. It's only fair that the employer chooses first."

"Nice. Good vantage points up there." Clary shrugged her shoulders and pulled out a few bullet cartridges, stowing them away in the bag. She pulled out a pair of fingerless gloves to help keep a firm grip on the base of the gun and pulled the seat back up. "How are we going to do this, big brother? Am I going to make an example of one of his lackeys?"

"Well… not at the start," Jonathan said with a teasing grin on his lips. "We'll try to go about this quietly, maybe cut a deal with him that can save his face. But if he pushes too far, well… I'm sure you'll think of something."

Clary propped her legs up on the dashboard, admiring her suede timberlands on her feet. "Any civilians in the area that could interfere with our meeting?"

"Three block radius surrounding the mall – no one will be able to hear any of the commotion if things get ugly. Also, the cops won't be there for another forty-five minutes top if they get a call."

The redhead nodded and pulled the seat back into position, slinking back into her seat in the front. it was scary to think how calm she was about the situation. She'd become desensitized to the fact that she was about to take someone's life tonight, perhaps more than one, maintaining a level head about the whole ordeal. She turned the speakers up in the car, resetting her mind as she prepared for what was to come.

_Find my life ahead_

_Oh I don't know, I don't know where_

_But I'm starting on my way_

_Will you meet me, will you meet me there_

_Echoes in the night_

_Like a melody is haunting me_

_But then I meet your eyes_

_With the fire of a rising sun_

_I am standing on the edge_

_Take me over, take me over_

_See how fast this life can change_

_Take me further, lead me further_

* * *

**_Songlist:_**

**_Chivalry is Dead - Trevor Wesley (his voice is beauuuutiful *droool)_**

**_Take me over - RED (I love these guys)_**


	27. Chapter 27:Honour Amongst Thieves

_**Thank you all for the reviews and the follows. Your support is very much appreciated. **_

_**A few honourable mentions: **_

_**\- TIDTMIgirl1 for constantly reviewing each chapter and putting your input in. Have no fear, I will get your ideas in here soon!**_

_**\- lindsayhonaker - I'm super sure you've been with me from the beginning so I thank you for persevering through the long waits. Can't believe you're still here :D**_

_**\- that awesome Guest, the recent one who asked me about Simon - yeah you know who you are, don't hide away from the screen, i saw your review - thank you for reminding me that there over a hundred other fellow shadow hunters that will kick my butt if I don't keep this going.**_

_**^Also dear guest, you can try to go shadow hunter on my ass, but you probably won't be able to handle this warlock child here :P**_

_**\- matioschka - i loved your review and i appreciate your thoughts on my style for writing. **_

_**To the rest of the **_**_fellow shadow hunter and Downworlder community, I thank you for sticking with this story and for pushing me along._**

**_Sidenote: New story cropping up called 'Chasing After Nemesis' - kinda like a modern greek au with Clace and Clebastian shipping. Have a look in your free time while you're waiting for this and see what you think :P Till then my fellow people..._**

**_Violentkitsune_**

* * *

**Chapter 27: Honour Amongst Thieves**

When he got the call from that young brat from central downtown, he couldn't believe what luck had fallen into his lap. The heir to the biggest crime syndicate within the city of New York - and arguably all around North America, had come to him for his services.

_What a fool._

Axel Mortmain was unremarkable by way of appearance; early fifties with grey-streaked hair and graying sideburns, and a short, stocky stature, and light grey eyes. In fact one could go so far as to say that he was the embodiment of grey. He held a cane in one hand, with the a sapphire inlaid in silver and gold around the top. However, his nondescript appearance was an advantage, belying all the wickedness, deceit, and power that made him who he was.

His line of work was based particularly in the drug cartel and slave trade throughout the northern hemisphere. When he expanded his organization and brought the Pandemonium empire here to New york, his business had been booming. All he had to do was reach out to the right contacts, cut a few deals here and there, and his business had exploded throughout the streets. He'd become an icon, a man of impeccable power. His name brought terror to the gangs running through the streets. He even made his way up to the top of the criminal pyramid, running equal with both the Seelie Court and the Sanguine gang.

But then it crashed.

Global organizations began to play close attention to the powerhouses' of New York's underbelly, exporting their resources to the syndicates they felt were worthy of their loyalty and business. The Seelie Court had a better variety of victims. Their prey fell unsuspectingly into their hands, with the company seeking out the best and refining them to the point of perfection before trading them off to the highest bidder. Sanguine gang had more firepower and muscle within their empire, expanding and taking over the Bronx. Once the young Santiago boy had climbed to the top as the leader of the Sanguine Gang, he made his network more efficient, with better workers under his thumb.

Mortmain thought that he could handle these two syndicates, believing that his expertise and experience would leave him untouchable in there eyes. Even though his business wasn't going as well as he hoped, he was still making more than enough. He fully believed he would still come out on top, that he would show the Yankee's who was top dog.

And then _he _came back.

When he first moved to America, he'd heard whispers of the infamous Morgenstern Family, and how they were the top of the crime pyramid. The Head of the Morgenstern Clan - Valentine, had disappeared so suddenly, leaving his empire to lie in a state of unrest as they awaited for his return. Many speculated that he'd gone away with his child sweetheart, and those same rumors had been verified when he returned seven years later to his resting place with a child in tow.

At the point of his return, it was as if the entire state had gone through a transformation. The public buzzed with theories over the escalating criminal activity, speculating that they were all the handiwork of the great Morgenstern himself, while all smaller, independent gangs within the criminal network turned their gazes to the Morgenstern clan. His name was whispered in fear, and very few dared to snitch on the mighty king himself, let alone steal or go against him. Mortmain began to lose more and more of his assets throughout the last few years as Valentine continued to accumulate more power, territory, and allies.

Now he was all but powerless.

Until a few days ago, that was.

When Valentine's boy called him up, Mortmain merely thought about the financial gain he would receive from this job. But after seeing the news go wild over the harbour incident, he saw another opportunity to use this against the mighty mob boss.

The fates were truly smiling down on him tonight.

"Sir, the area has been cleared out, and we've set up the men around the parameters as you requested."

The older man smiled cruelly. "Good, good… ensure that our guest has an escort awaiting his arrival."

His underling nodded and marched away, his footsteps echoing throughout the empty building. Mortmain looked around at the abandoned building, surveying the open spaces around him. The complex was big, with several upper floors and large concrete strips bridging between the upper floors. There was a bonfire blazing in the centre where a fountain once stood, the ground showing scorch marks from previous years of use. Near the south end of the building was a broken escalator stairwell leading down into the darkness of the basement levels, with a high probability of sewage run-off pooling about. The skylight above pooled the waning moonlight down below, casting a haunted glow about the area. He had all possible exits secured, from the escape stairwell leading up onto the roof, to the holes in the wall on the ground floor level. Sure the Morgenstern brat said he was going to arrive unarmed to the meeting, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that he won't try to perform some underhanded dealings.

He kicked the loose gravel that had fallen away from the construction above, watching it skitter about like vermin on the street. Mortmain pulled out the pocketwatch from his jacket, checking the time. The brat should be arriving any time soon now…

"_Sir._"

Mortmain pulled the walkie-talkie off the waistband of his trousers and held it up to his face."Has our guest arrived?"

"_Yes sir. And he's alone, just as you said he would be._"

_Che. What a stupid kid. _"Bring him in."

.

Jonathan wasn't surprised when he saw the three men standing outside as he parked his car outside the vandalised building. Axel Mortmain didn't exactly give off the impression of being a trustworthy man. Not to mention that his line of work was resting in dire straits, so why wouldn't he try to intimidate the man he was currently trying to blackmail?

He slid the keys out of the ignition and moved out of the car effortlessly with the grace of a silver tiger. He pulled out the silver briefcase he had stationed in between the seats and slammed the door shut, pressing the button on the keys to lock it up.

The men fidgeted under the cold smile he gave them. Granted, Jonathan had a reputation of being a bloodthirsty, tempestuous, manipulative demon from the very depths of the seventh circle of hell. But he also had a playful side to his personality. While his rage brought terror to the heart's of his enemies, his smile could bring people down to their knees.

"How thoughtful," Jonathan mocked, popping the collar on his jacket as he looked around him. "Mortmain sent a welcoming party to greet me." He pouted moodily as he looked around. "What a shame. I would've thought the entrance ceremony would have more grandeur than this. Some fireworks, a few escorts waiting at the door…"

"My, my, aren't we the overconfident young gentlemen? I'm sure the devil himself raised you with better manners."

A figure melted away from the shadows, forming a rather stout woman well into her early fifties. She had a plump figure and wore a bright green suit paired with a set of ridiculous cheetah-printed gloves and neck-scarf. Her eyes were pale and set deeply in her face, appearing to others as if she were constantly squinting.

"You're quite the pretty boy, aren't you?" She said with a chuckle. "Get most of your looks from your father, I take it?"

"And the dashing charisma and debonair as well, mind you," Jonathan said with a wink. "And you are…?"

"Call me Mrs. Black," she said. The plump woman wobbled up to him and patted him on the cheek endearingly. Her touch was colder than a glacier in the depths of Antarctica. Her eyes were tiny marbles and empty of any emotion.

_Cold, _he observed. _Robotic. __Lifeless like a machine._

She fished out a flashlight out of her pocket and put in on high, shining it up towards the cloudless sky. "Let's get going, shall we? We have business to attend to do, and Mortmain doesn't have the same patience as he did many years ago."

"By all means," Jonathan said with a flourish, bowing low at the hips like a butler welcoming a guest into a mansion. "Lead the way."

.

The empty halls of the mall echoed loudly with the steps heralding the arrival of the welcoming party. Mortmain turned around to face the incoming group, the noise growing louder and more deafening with each step of their progression. The group had come through the hole in the wall down by the east, separating themselves from the pitch-black in the corner. The light from the fire cast dim shadows across the group, particularly on the young man's face. The boy had silver hair with a feral smile, both mesmerizing and full of guile.

_And so the devil sends his firstborn to arise from the ashes and continue making deals for the king of hell._

Mortmain held his arms out as a token sign of peace, smiling slightly. "Welcome, young Morgenstern. I must say you are not what I expected you to be."

"Were you expecting a more hulking thug struggling to fit in a tuxedo?" the silver-blonde said with a grin on his face.

"Not quite," Mortmain said honestly. "But you are somewhat on the right track. Truth be told, I expected you to be shorter in real life."

"Happy to disappoint." Jonathan stopped a few feet away, looking at the fire off to the side. "Nice. Homely touches can make such a big difference to the atmosphere."

"Anything to make the Knight of Hell more comfortable during business hours," Mortmain said mirthlessly.

The young silver-haired man tilted his head coyly at Mortmain, his eyes growing colder by the second. Even though he was unarmed and completely alone, there was no telling what the boy was thinking. Either way, he needed to be treated as a threat until the deed was done, and Mortmain would continue doing so until he got what he deserved.

"I'm surprised that we have to meet up like this," Jonathan spoke dejectedly. "The original sum should have been enough compensation for your company's loss."

The older man shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? In our world you take every opportunity you can sink your fangs into."

Jonathan yawned and looked Mortmain squarely in the eye. "Let's just get this over and done with, shall we" The Englishman arched one eyebrow at the lad's cocky attitude. "I'm sure you have a busy schedule, so we'll just cut to the chase and get serious."

Jonathan reached out and tossed the silver briefcase across the concrete floor, hearing it skitter across the gravel until it stopped at Mortmain's feet. "There's thirty-five-hundred-grand in there for your silence. That should keep your belly well-fed for another few years."

Mortmain looked down at the briefcase with shrewd eyes. He looked back behind at one of his men, and nodded. The man came forward and picked up the suitcase, backing away with the money in tow.

"I'm sorry, young man," Mortmain began in a pitiful tone, "But we're going to need a lot more than that pitiful amount in exchange for my silence."

A handful of noises could be heard, all mechanical and in unison. Jonathan heard the tell tale signs of guns locking onto him, and wondered idly how many were up there watching the scene play out below.

_This will be an interesting night,_ he thought amusedly.

"I was wondering when you were going to quit the nice guy act," Jonathan said truthfully, his voice echoing in the air. "I'm a little disappointed that you quit so early. From what I heard about you, you like to play the gentleman and ease them under your control before you stab them in the back."

"Glad to hear that you've done your homework."

Jonathan smirked. "Actually, I did a bit of research on how not to screw up when it comes to the art of intimidation. My father recommended you as one the failures and that I should use your expertise as an example of what not to do when it comes to dealings."

Mortmain froze up, his smile falling with every word. Was that how Morgenstern saw him? Some nobody who didn't have the same expertise as him?

Jonathan continued smirking at Mortmain's expression. "Sure, it was great in the beginning, but in this era we don't care for the gentle approach. If you want something, it's best to use brutal force followed closely by a gentle caress to toy about with their mind."

"Insolent imp," Mrs. Black snapped quietly, slapping the blonde on the back of the head. The older woman had spent her time loitering around the blonde, ensuring that he made no attempts to escape. "Did your mother not teach you any thing about respecting your elders?"

Jonathan angled his head slowly towards the old bag of fatty flesh and bones, his expression souring with every passing second. "My mother is nothing but the vessel that brought me into this world," he replied coldly. She stepped back a bit, her eyes widening at the darkness within his eyes. "And my father taught me that respect is earned, not given out freely for all to have."

"Mrs. Black, I think that will be all." Mortmain said dully, lowering his gaze on the boy. The woman moved away, nodding her head in affirmation. She tugged along one of the guards as they trailed away from the light of the fire, moving around the place in preparation for what was about to come. He straightened up and fixed Jonathan with a warm gaze, one that promised a future full of pain if the boy continued to enrage him.

"Look at you," Mortmain said warmly, taking light steps around the pale blonde, swinging his cane lightly. 'Trying to play with the big boys, huh? Your daddy must be real proud about what you've accomplished." Jonathan stiffened at his words. Mortmain smirked as he watched the boy tense up. "That's right. I know all about father-and-son duo. Always trying to make daddy Morgenstern happy, trying to show him that you are the best in the business. You do everything for him, but it's not enough, is it?"

The grey-haired man stopped by the fire, staring into the flames. "Jonathan Morgenstern, son of Valentine Morgenstern. Known throughout the Empire as the Knight of Hell. Undefeated in combat and a notorious negotiator. Has successfully accumulated all of the north-side gang relations of New York into the Morgenstern Clan, and has gained the loyalty and trust of the Seelie Court, in particular their head the Seelie Queen herself. You have over two dozen public figures under your thumb, with majority of them operating as public officials in high-ranking positions, including a few lawyers if I may assume correctly. You stand to inherit your father's position as Head of the Morgenstern Clan, which will make you the most powerful man in all of New York." Mortmain spun around to face the blonde with a serene smile on his face. "Shall I continue your history?"

The blonde showed no response to the man and continued standing still as a statue. "Is there a reason behind why you felt the need to boast about my achievements? I appreciate your admiration, but there's no need for you to admit it out loud."

Mortmain moved close to the boy and faced him front-on. "My foothold here in America is in need of some… resuscitation in order to get back in the game. Unfortunately, that original twenty-five hundred grand you gave me? It's not going to be enough."

"So what do you want me to do about?"

Mortmain grinned. _Now we're getting somewhere._ "I know that your lot are swimming in blood money, so you're going to cut me a share of twenty million from your family account. Don't play the poor peasant boy – you'd be a fool not to know the net worth of the Morgenstern Empire. Not only that, but you're going to send me a few more guys to replace those lowlifes I gave you for the harbor incident. I don't want any cheap slackers you keep at the bottom of your food chain. I'm talking about real men with real credibility, some top-notch soldiers that take orders and can do some real damage."

"…Is there anything else you would like to request?" Jonathan said hollowly, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I'm aware of the Morgenstern Fortune and the auction that your clan is hosting next month. There's an item that I want from the inventory, an automaton dated back to the early nineteen hundreds, and you'll give it to me without so much as a fuss and for free. My silence doesn't come without a cost here, young Morgenstern."

Jonathan raised one hand and brushed the hair off his face, flashing a piece of silver encircled around his wrist. "Money, men, priceless artifacts – anything else you want Santa to give you? Perhaps a blind girl that will willingly go down on you?"

Mortmain's temper flared. Jonathan's tone was anything but sincere, and it infuriated him to see the brat acting above his station. He closed the space between them and within two seconds back-handed the boy with a closed fist, the heavy silver ring on his finger adding extra mass to the blow. The ivory-haired boy kept his face turned to the side, his pale skin growing darker around the area where he had been struck.

"Don't get so cocky, you pretentious brat," Mortmain snarled. "What, did you think that just because you're a Morgenstern you can get away unscathed? That you can keep prancing around like everything is under your control?!"

The young man slowly turned back to face the shorter man, his face frozen with an unreadable expression. His hair fell back into his eyes, hiding his true emotion.

Axel Mortmain stepped back to appraise his handiwork, his rage boiling at the surface of his skin. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, before straightening up his jacket and smoothing back the hair on his head.

"Now, Mr. Morgenstern, I'm sure you're more than well aware of how this situation will play out," he said calmly. He brushed on hand against the head of his cane, pulling out a thin sword that was hidden within the wood. "You will do as I ask or the tabloids will catch wind of the truth of the harbor incident. Do you think you'll be safe from your father's rage once the public find out?"

The blonde looked squarely at the gun, his eyes trained on the blade held before him. His lips slowly rose upwards, hesitant at first, but gaining in momentum until he let out a dark chuckle.

"Ha, ha, ha ha ha…"

Mortmain narrowed his eyes shrewdly and looked around the room to see what was so funny. He had a total of thirteen men on the ground, all aiming their guns at the platinum blonde. Up above he had twelve snipers with their rifles trained on the brat before him. He was practically a dead man.

And yet here he was—

Laughing in the face of death like a madman.

_What the hell is so funny?_

He should be cowering before him.

_Why does he keep laughing?_

He should be on his knees, begging for mercy.

_What the fuck is he laughing at?!_

"What on earth is so amusing, brat?" Mortmain huffed impatiently. This boy was trying his patience.

Jonathan managed to quiet down, his chuckles bursting out less frequently. He raised his head up and fixed Mortmain with a stare that made him shudder out of fear.

"Ah, Axel Mortmain," he said softly. "I pity you for what is about to come. You have no idea what you've unleashed from that simple action of yours."

Mortmain furrowed his brow and quickly brought the blade up to the base of his throat, holding it against his snow-white skin. "Who do you think you are, boy?!" He hissed furiously. Mortmain felt a vein pop out of his skin, but he couldn't care less. From the start this boy had been cocky, refusing to show any form of respect to the man before him. "I will kill you if don't submit to my wishes boy, and then what'll happen, huh?! Your precious kingdom will fall apart because of your arrogance, and your father will have no one to take over the precious family business. In fact, here's the new plan kid." Mortmain pressed the blade deeper into his skin, taking great care not to break his skin. "If you don't agree to my terms within the next twenty seconds, I will watch your blood stain the ground and ditch your body in the Hudson, where you will sink without anyone to mourn your loss."

Jonathan smiled, his grin full of darkness and bloodlust. His eyes were turned towards the skylight and he saw something flash in his sights.

"Tell me Mortmain," Jonathan began softly, "How many men did you bring to kill me tonight?"

The older man was shocked by the comment but quickly regained his composure, forming a dark grin of his own. "Plenty. One half to stop your heart from beating, the other half to burn your body beyond recognition."

"Well, that's a damn shame, now Axel," Jonathan said innocuously. "But you know what they say, the more the merrier. Looks like she'll get more than her fill tonight."

The Englishman blanked out momentarily at Jonathan's words, trying to register the message behind his words. "'She'? What the hell are you harping on about?"

Jonathan chuckled, his laughter catching in his throat. "Well my sister, of course. Surely you didn't forget that Morgenstern had another heir to his empire."

Mortmain's hand shook as he fought to maintain control of the situation, refusing to let the shock take over his mindset.

Jonathan smirked wildly, sensing the surprise in his hands. "I can't blame you for not knowing that particular piece of information. After all, my sister didn't have to associate herself with the lower circles of New York's worst."

Mortmain's arm was shaking. How could he not know such a vital piece of information about his opponent? He had ears everywhere and yet this knowledge had somehow escaped his notice.

"You're bluffing," he rasped hesitantly. "There's no way she could be here. And even is she was, what could your sister possibly do?"

"Oh plenty," he said, the words rolling off his tongue in such a seductive tone. He stretched both arms out to his side, as if welcoming death's cold embrace. "Allow me to introduce to you all, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern; Daughter of Valentine Morgenstern, heiress to the Morgenstern Clan - and the woman who shall deliver you at death's door."

As if on cue, a cry could be heard echoing throughout the abandoned mall. Axel Mortmain turned his face away from the platinum blonde and watched with horror as one of the snipers fell from one of the higher levels. Her body snapped against the ground, bones jutting out from her skin as her screams were silenced.

"Sorry – was she one of yours?"

Bile rose up in Mortmain's throat and a cold sweat began to form against the nape of his neck. Mortmain turned back to face Jonathan and saw that he had backed away from the older man, fixated with a dominant, predatory gaze on the sword before him.

"Now, tell me, Axel Mortmain," he began in a voice like thunder, "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"

_Ba-dump._

_Ba-dump._

_Ba-dump._

"FUCK! KILL HIM! RUN HIM THROUGH WITH A BULLET!

* * *

Clary had to be honest.

She was excited.

Once she realized that everyone was a criminal, and that they were all scumbags who needed to be exterminated, the voice of reason in her head calmed down, seeing the logic in the situation and permitting her to let her rage out once and for all.

Her blood pumped through her veins as she sighted along the rifle that had been set up by the girl she'd just pushed over the edge. Her heart raced in her chest as she switched targets, shooting two snipers up on the floor above her. Music rang through her ears as they uttered their last cries, collapsing onto the concrete floor. Her body was on fire, moving around in the dark as she raced along, dodging the misguided attempts to shoot her down.

She'd forgotten the addictive adrenaline rush, the way the world slowed down as she entered a state of bloodlust

The redhead leapt down through a hole on the floor, landing squarely on the shoulders of one of the hired snipers. The man slumped beneath her weight, her shoes crushing his shoulder blades. He yelped as she brought one of her knives out from the sheath around her thigh and slit a neat line across the jugular. Blood sprayed over the floor and Clary found her darker persona relishing in the glory of it.

Clary looked down at the foray on the ground, searching for her brother amongst the fight. He was up against three men, each armed with a taser, a baton, and a knife in their hand. Behind him, two men had gone to meet their maker, their faces bloody and their necks snapped at harsh angles.

"Ever the eager killer," Clary observed.

The redhead got into position behind the rifle and looked through the scope. Sparks flared up near the top floor of the shopping complex, giving away yet another position. She counted two spots and breathed out as she fired two shots. One found their mark and killed the target, the other not so much.

"I see her! Second floor, open fire!"

"Dammit." Clary rolled away from the spot as a shower of bullets rained down on her position. She crawled over to a pillar and stood up, holding the stolen rifle in her hands. Clary snuck a glance up above from her floor and spotted three men leaving their positions on the fourth floor, making their way down to her level.

_Idiots, _she belittled. _What kind of idiot freely walks out into the open in a firefight? _She had the night vision goggles she stole from the corpse and snapped them onto the back of her head. She looked around for her targets, counting up the remainder of them. She'd taken out four snipers in total and injured one up above. To the best her knowledge, there was no one else on her side of the building above her, but she kept to the shadows just for safety precautions. Aside from the three making their way down, Mortmain had two gunners stationed on the walkways down at either end of the building, one searching the side corridors for her figure while the other tried to get a clear shot on her brother below.

She moved from the pillar and fired a hailstorm of bullets onto the guys below, scattering them to and fro across the floor. Jonathan took advantage of the situation and clapped his hands around the ears of the guards, watching him stumble into the other guy before running off with his knife towards the stairwell.

"After him!" Mortmain yelped, dragging one of his bodyguards in front of him to shield him. "Both of them! Shoot them both down!"

Clary pulled her goggles down and watched as the trio crossed the walkway onto her side of the complex, wandering aimlessly into the dark. She ducked low and crossed over to one of the other pillars, barely dodging one of the shots fired at her form.

"Come out girly," one of them whistled. "Show us that pretty face of yours."

_Assholes,_ Clary thought pessimistically. She slung the rifle strap over her shoulder and peeked through a hole in the pillar. The guys were combing through the dimly lit halls, stepping over large piles of debris from the weak structure. Their footsteps were loud, and from the way they were moving, they were unpracticed and complete amateurs with hand-to-hand combat. However, from the way they held the guns, Clary would bet anything that they had good gun control and were more than capable of getting a few critical hits in the moment she crossed into their line of sight.

Clary made an attempt to move away from the pillar but was immediately fired upon from their direction, their bullets skimming along the granite pillar and over the top of her head. Debris feel in her hair and she shook her head to get rid of the excess rubble off her head.

"Found her," a new voice spoke. "Second pillar down in the end. Spearhead formation, go."

Clary could hear their feet change to a brisk pace as they approached her. She held her rifle and looked around despairingly for some sort of escape. _Come on. Think think thinkthinkthink—_

A dangerous idea popped into her head as she looked out in front of her. The rickety stairwell leading up to the third floor above her. If she could make her way over to them, then she could ambush them up top when they come after her.

_But how am I going to get there?_

Clary looked down at the rifle in her hands. She swallowed and quickly threw the gun as far as she could towards her attackers, running as soon as the rifle left her fingertips. She didn't dare to look back, in case she lost her ground and they gained more on her. The rifle went off with a bang and she heard bullets ricochet while the men behind her howled 'back up', giving her some hope that her plan was working. The redhead leapt up the stairs two at a time, trying her hardest to ignore the pain in her knees. _Just get up there, get up the stairs woman!_ Clary was barely up the stairs when she felt a poorly aimed bullet whizz past her face. The men had caught onto her trick and had already gained more ground than she theorized. They trailed up the stairs one by one like a stream of ants, climbing steadily after her.

"Shit." She reached down and pulled out a knife. She aimed it meticulously and watched it sail until it was buried the head of one of the chaser's. His body fell back on those behind him giving Clary a little bit more time to run. Clary raced ahead, ignoring her rifle and grabbing her bag instead. _Plan B,_ she thought mentally.

She twisted down a left corridor, going deeper into the un-sturdy foundations. She knew she would be safe there – Clary knew this place better than Mortmain's lackey's, and so did Jonathan. Both of them had visited this place on several occasions with other people, venturing throughout the cursed building with its' unstable structure. They knew where the floors were the weakest, where the little hidey-holes were. They knew where the echo of one's footsteps disappeared into silence as they crossed over rubble and dust, where ladders had been stolen and abandoned against the wall to reach better viewpoints during the matches that were organized in this vicinity.

This was their territory. _Her_ territory.

The whole of New York was hers.

And there was no way Clarissa Morgenstern was going to roll over for anyone who dared to disrupt her peaceful lifestyle.

"Peek-a-boo," she sang teasingly. Her voice bounced off the walls in a parody of the real thing, warping itself in the cool air. She pulled out her bloody knife, wiping the blood on a rag she had stowed away in her bag. She ditched the bag inside a wall and pranced away, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows.

_Come get me._

.

"Peek-a-boo."

Jonathan paused in his movements as he listened to Clarissa's voice dance across the still air. He watched as a flickering red flame disappeared deep into the darkness, drawing its prey in after it. He smiled a dark predatory smirk as he watched them disappear to their deaths.

_Fools._

Jonathan's mind returned back to the current situation and he looked at his surroundings. Two of the followers were dead, their throats slashed with blood dribbling from their lips. Jonathan had made the image all the more gruesome by using a large chunk of debris to smash one of their skulls in, watching their head cave in.

"Mor-gen-stern!" A chipper old voice sang. Mrs. Black's voice was poison to Jonathan, and he snarled as he watched her approach with a gun and four armed men in tow. "Where are yo-ou?"

The ivory blonde tossed his knife up in the air and caught it deftly, fixing his dark eyes on the group at hand. "When will you people learn that it'll take much more to kill us?"

The old woman cackled. Gone was the sweet, endearing attitude, replaced by a bitter, cold spirit. He could sense the sudden change in atmosphere, the cold fear that drove the lackeys into submission. "Well, bucko, we'll never know until we try. So be a good little boy and stay still while we tear you limb from limb."

She sent her two lackeys forward. They moved with perfect synchronization, their movements mirroring one another. Jonathan had to admit that he had a fair bit of trouble, holding both arms over his head to fend off their hammer-fist attacks. He retreated a few steps as they sent in a flurry of punches. Just as the blonde one was about to send an attack to his head, Jonathan ducked down and manipulated the knife in his hands, reaching out and capturing the hand under his arm while he slashed the tendons in his hand. A cry of outrage echoed in the air as Jonathan kicked him into the other guy, watching them stumble onto the ground. The ivory blonde surged forward and brought an axe-kick down on the blonde, crushing his windpipe with excruciating force. While the blonde began to choke on his own blood, Jonathan reached out with snapped the back of his fist down onto his partner's nose, grinning wildly as blood poured freely. But it wasn't enough to satiate his blood lust. The ivory blonde grasped ahold of his neck and – with his right hand, gouged out his eyes, rendering him blind beyond repair.

The body slumped down onto the ground, with the lackey covering his eyes and trying to keep the contents from spilling out. Jonathan walked over them, not sparing a second thought for their situation.

Mrs. Black signaled for the other two to move in, lagging behind as they came with knives raised in their hands. Jonathan braced his knife-hand against one attack, ducking below to avoid a kick from the gorilla of a bodyguard. The skinnier of the two reached forward and pulled Jonathan's face onto his knee, sending his head spinning out of control. The ivory blonde stumbled and felt the gorilla man spin him around as he clasped his beefy arms under his armpits and locked his fingers together around his neck. Jonathan was trapped in his hold, with no way of escaping without damaging a limb to do so. The skinny guy came and sent a few hits to his guts, punching him effectively in the lower intestine. His body curled up around his attacks, absorbing the impact as pain resonated throughout his torso.

Jonathan grunted and kicked his legs up, hooking them tightly around the other guy's neck in a tight vise. His face slowly shifted through hues of blossoming red to dark purple, his body writhing in an attempt to escape his hold. The gorilla tried to pry Jonathan off, but his resolve strengthened and his legs tightened until his prey was on the brink of unconsciousness. The gorilla had no other choice but to loosen his arms in order to drag him away from his partner. He hauled Jonathan by his shoulders, giving him the opportunity to wrap his own fingers around his neck. He braced his legs against his prey's chest and flicked them over his head, feeling his body flip over while the gorilla's body fell back with him, breaking his spine as he did so.

The demon within him howled in approval as he surveyed the living graveyard around him. This battlefield was his Valhalla, his domain. He fed off the pains of those he wounded, delighting in their suffering. He picked up the knife he had discarded momentarily and held it out as an invitation to the old woman before him.

"Would you like to try your hand, _ma Cherie?_" He said innocently. His body was tensed, a wolf waiting to spring into action.

Mrs. Black smirked grimly, revealing teeth that had been filed down to imitate those of a shark. Jonathan's interest was piqued. How could he not have noticed that before? She pulled out a handgun from the inside of her suit and began to fire off rounds simultaneously, cackling loudly for all to hear. The young man quickly leapt for cover, sliding across the concrete floor behind a crumbling pillar.

"Can't hide forrrever kid," she hisses, emptying out her bullets in his direction. Jonathan waited for her to empty out her blanks and reload before moving out, covering the space between them. He reached out and slashed her with a knife, the woman barely missing a kiss from his blade. The woman snarled and ducked under her blow, attacking the freehand that was by his side. Pain blossomed from his hand and Jonathan kicked her away with fervent anger. He swiped the gun out of her hands and brought the knife in for an attack, pushing her on the defensive.

Poor woman didn't have any time to react when Jonathan plunged the knife deep to its hilt in her chest.

Her face was frozen, her teeth bared towards him as the light faded from her eyes. Jonathan licked his lips hungrily, watching the body slump around his weapon. He withdrew the blade from her corpse, watching it slither unceremoniously onto the floor into a pile of skin and bones.

Jonathan felt a prickling sensation and looked down at his hand. By some mere miracle, Mrs. Black had managed to latch her jaws around his hand, creating two perfect crescent moons on his palm and the back of his hand. He clenched his fingers tightly.

"Disgusting maggot," he uttered, kicking the body away. He threw the blade away and skipped back down the stairs, his sights set on the boss as he scampered away with his shields in tow.

* * *

"Keep your eyes open! I don't want any of them near me! Shoot whatever you see!"

To say that Mortmain was scared would be a complete understatement.

Fear had never had such a sweeter victim as this man here. It caught ahold of his heart and squeezed it in rampant bursts, creating contractions that made his body shudder. Death breathed down the back of his neck, whispering the same haunting thing over and over.

_He's coming for you._

_She's coming for blood._

_He'll tear you to shreds._

_She'll skin you alive._

His guards spread out around him in a circle, keeping their backs towards his boss. Mortmain had sheathed his sword, holding his cane out at the ready. This place was like a maze. Already he couldn't remember where the exit was, and neither could his men. They were lost in the shadows, their torches dancing over everything in their sight.

"Find me a way out of here _now!"_ Mortmain bellowed.

A laugh rang out through the cold air, putting the group of men on high alert. Mortmain began to pull the blade out, his eyes narrowing to slits as he searched for the source of the sound. His men were skittish, shining their lights all over the place.

"Running away, Mortmain?" the sweet voice echoed. "Such a cowardly act – are you sure you're the same Axel Mortmain I read about?"

Mortmain's eyes darted about the whole place. _Where was she? Where the hell was that bitch?_

"Right behind you."

Mortmain sung around and his face was met with a gloved fist that sent him sprawling on the ground. His cane left his hand and he heard the cries of his men, their previous bravado disappearing as a crimson-haired woman slaughtered them one by one. She danced between their bodies with an otherworldly grace, twisting and turning out of their reach as his own blade kissed them one by one. A few of them managed to sneak in a few lucky hits, but not enough to put her down permanently. Once all of his men were down, she spun around to face him.

She was certainly a looker with her doll-like features, her emerald eyes so unlike the silver-blonde and black-eyed combination of the men of the Morgenstern lineage. Were it not Jonathan's own confession about this redhead, Mortmain would never have believed that they were related. Their physical attributes were on opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet he could still recognize that dark persona about them.

She strode over to his body, donned in leather and chiffon, and hauled upright, holding his blade under his chin.

"Axel Mortmain," she recited, "President of the Pandemonium Club, infamous for smuggling drugs and slaves of all kinds. Three years ago you killed the groom of a recently engaged couple, and then you proceeded to continue abducting young teenagers throughout London. You burned a family alive in their home, and you've been smuggling drugs to young kids on the streets. Two years ago your men hijacked a cruise ship off the coast of California, and the inhabitants onboard were either sold off or killed off due to being incompatible for the demands." Beads of red glided across his bloodstained blade. "You're a goddamn monster, Mortmain. I should kill you for all the pain and suffering you've caused."

Mortmain glared at her defiantly, pressing his own jaw against his sword. "Go ahead then," he challenged. "Do it."

Emerald flames sparked up behind her eyes. The girl Clarissa reached out to him and pulled out the radio from his belt, holding it up to him. "Call off the rest of your men."

Mortmain narrowed his eyes. "No."

_THWACK!_

Pain, in-exquisite pain was all he could feel. The female Morgenstern had thrashed the butt of his sword in his face, sending a burning sensation throughout his upper body. His head slammed back against the concrete, a loud _crack!_ \- resonating through the air.

"I'm giving you a chance to save what's left of your dignity here Axel," she snapped. "Now you can either save the lives of what little support you have here in this building, or so help, my brother the demon himself with enter a blood-lust frenzy and he will destroy everything, including your pitiful life here. Do you want that to happen?"

Mortmain gazed shrewdly at the girl. Her father may be Valentine but there was no way she was truly a Morgenstern through and through. She was too merciful, too soft for this world they lived in. She had the skills to do so, but Mortmain doubted that she would be useful as anything more than a weapon. No one in their world would ever be

"Let them die," he spat out. "They're nothing but hired help."

Her nostrils flared and his face was pushed into the ground. The woman stood up and pressed the sole of her boot onto his chest, stomping on him multiple times and knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"That kind of thinking is what makes me hate people like you," she spoke lowly. Mortmain stiffened as the tip of the blade lined up in the center of his chest. "Scumbags like you always parading about as if the world is theirs for the taking. Treating people like they're there to keep your boots from getting dirty."

The redhead raised her head, a few strays crossing over her eyes. A deadly aura emanated from her figure, one that made the fear of death even more real than ever. Mortmain's breathing was ragged, and his chest heaved underneath her foot.

_Where the hell were his lackeys?_ He thought wildly. Someone was bound to have stumbled upon them. Surely they would've come looking for him…

She held the radio up to her lips. "Did you guys hear that?"

Mortmain froze up.

How could he forget about the goddamn radio?

The radio buzzed into life as he heard a resounding 'yes' come through on the device. He began to sweat furiously as he struggled to pull the girl down. Now no one was going to help him. He began to scream out that it was all a lie, but Clarissa had already smashed her foot on his groin repeatedly.

"Here's how it goes," she ordered. "All of you will meet by the fountain in the main center. Come unarmed and my brother and I will spare you a tragic, torturous death. Go against us, and you can join the rest of the corpses around this place, along with your boss Axel Mortmain. Your choice."

Static echoed through the air, and Mortmain choked. There was a high possibility that his men would turn their backs on him and ditch him for the Morgenstern brats.

Footsteps rang loudly from behind him, and Mortmain eyes widened with hope. Finally, someone had found him. Clarissa tensed up above him. She glared at him with a stone cold expression and kicked one of his arms out. With his sword she drove it down into his palm, bypassing the leather glove he wore and pinning his hand down. Mortmain howled as the pain burned away through his nerves. It was akin to a dog sinking their fangs through his skin, mauling away at his hand until there was nothing but blood and bone. He looked up with teary eyes and saw that she had relaxed visibly, disappearing from sight as she went towards the source of the footsteps.

"Having fun without me, sis?"

"Just doing what I have to."

It had to the Morgenstern brat. Just had to be Jonathan.

The silver-blonde young man towered over Mortmain, smiling sadistically at the poor bastard and his current predicament. Jonathan Morgenstern prodded the toe of his shoe against his sword, the pain spiking up within him. "Stop that!" he yelled.

"Stop what?" Jonathan prodded the blade again; this time the pain was lightning searing through his veins, cutting open every artery in his body.

"E-enough!" He gasped, sweat building up and soaking through his clothes. "I g-give in! I gi-ive in, dammit! I swear by the Pandemonium Club I w-won't say anything!"

Jonathan's smile cooled as his eyes heated up with victory. He sat up and stared down at the man lying vulnerably before him. "You swear?"

Mortmain swore black and blue, nodding in confirmation. "I s-swear! Now take the damn blade out of my h-hand!"

"No," Jonathan said smugly. Mortmain's face cringed as the pain intensified throughout his body. Jonathan twisted the blade in his palm and watched with grotesque pleasure as the man writhed before him like a fish out of water. "You can wait until the clean up crew arrives."

* * *

.

"That was quite cruel of you to say that."

"True, but I'm not the one who stuck a sword in his palm."

Clarissa cringed at Jonathan's words. They stood by the bonfire, still burning during the aftermath of the night's events. The cleaners were rolling the bodies in separate bags, dousing the bloodstains with bleach. The men who were previously working for Mortmain had been turned loose, with the condition that they all served under Jonathan Morgenstern. They were more than happy to oblige his demands, and went on their ways with the promise not to reveal anything that had happened. All of them were in the dark on the subject of Valentine's death, since Mortmain choose to leave them in the dark in case they tried to copy him and blackmail the Morgenstern clan as well.

Jonathan stared into the embers of the flame, losing himself in their glimmering sparks of fire and gold. "Are you going to kill him?"

The ivory blonde tilted his head as he felt his sister brush up against his side. "You know we have to dispose of any loose ends. Otherwise we risk father's fury."

Clarissa huffed beside him. "We can't just kill him."

"Why not?"

"His foothold in America may be gone, but he still has the loyalties of those back in his homeland. Kill him, and you risk losing alliances with international businesses that support the Morgenstern Clan. Not to mention you'll have an all-out turf war with the Pandemonium Club."

The ivory-blonde turned to face his sister. "Are you worried that we might lose?"

"I'm only interested in myself," Clary bristled. "The more I get involved with this stuff, the longer my contract extends if things go wrong."

"Hmm." The pair turned their heads as they watched an unconscious druglord being dragged out by his former underlings. They were being lead by one of Jonathan's men out of the building, where a white van awaited them. Mortmain had his head covered with a black pillowcase, while his hand continued to bleed out behind him.

"What do you propose I do with him then, Clarissa? I can't exactly let him run free with his tail between his legs. He might get cocky again and decide to take us on again."

Clarissa furrowed her eyebrows and bit her fingernail. "Drop him at the police station," she said. "There's a warrant out for his arrest. Dump him outside the Institute and let the cops decide his future. No one will dig in too deep, and his company back home won't go pointing fingers at any of us here in New York."

Jonathan was stunned. Her plan was simple and effective, but so devious and conniving at the same time. He tugged on a red lock of her hair and curled it around his finger.

"The first time father told me you were going to be introduced into the business, I thought he was joking," Jonathan recounted solemnly. "I didn't think you'd be able to handle this world with your soft upbringing and gentle way of thinking. You didn't have a single backbone when you were younger, and you were always the first to cave in when Valentine made us train when Jocelyn was around. You were such a crybaby, and I didn't believe that such a naïve girl such as yourself would be able to survive in this place. But I was wrong." He let her hair drop back against her face, staring deep into her expressionless eyes. "You've grown, Clarissa. More than I could possibly dream of."

Her face was on the brink between boredom and anger. "I'm just being selfish." Her expression turned haughty as she looked down. "Your hand is hurt."

Jonathan looked down and held his hand up in front of him. He had forgotten about Mrs. Black's bite marks. The blood had clotted up around the cuts, but it still needed cleaning. "Just a scratch," he said coolly. He'd dealt with far worse things than a rabid woman with a fetish for biting things.

"Well, get it cleaned up," Clary said brusquely. "You're my ride home, and the last thing I need is for Valentine's precious golden child to get an infection and have to amputate his own arm because of his stupid pride."

Jonathan arched an eyebrow in surprise. This was the first that Clary had shown any worry for him. Normally she would be much more adverse to his presence and would be gone in the blink of an eye. "There's a first-aid kit under the passenger seat in the car," he told her, fishing his keys out of his pocket. "Make sure you pick up the briefcase when you go. Don't want to leave anything behind for any mundies to find."

Clary swiped the keys from his hand and pinched him on the bicep. "Don't be long, Jonathan," she said indifferently, picking up the silver briefcase. She wrinkled her eyebrows in suspicion and lifted the case up and down a few times. "What did you put in this? 'Cause it certainly doesn't feel like three-hundred grand."

Jonathan chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that made men and woman swoon from the dulcet tone. "William Shakespeare, complete volume. First edition."

The crimson-haired girl with eyes as fresh as spring grass whistled appreciatively. "Not bad. Now hurry up before that bite get's worst."

Jonathan smirked and gave her the two-fingered salute. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

_**Is this satisfactory for you guys? R&amp;R - I can take the flame if you guys burn me to. No need to be nice all the time. You can go off at me if you want to. Until next time guys!**_

_**-Violentkitsune**_


	28. Chapter 28: New Generation

**Short note - thanks to all those who reviewed and have begun to follow this story of mine. It's pretty awesome to see how much feedback i've been getting for this. I've updated my other TMI/TID story incase your interested, so you can find it on my page. Other than that, please endure and enjoy :D**

**\- _Violentkitsune_**

* * *

.

**Chapter 28: New Generation**

_Clary twirled about in Jace's arms, her face lit up with pure, unadulterated happiness. Her walls were down, and the fear of her past had disappeared. _

_For once, the future looked bright and hopeful for the young redhead._

_The tall, strong policeman spun Clary out, and back in again, his eyes hungry and lingering on her figure with lust and the knowledge that she was his. The young redhead smirked and snaked one hand around the back of his neck, the ballroom disappearing from sight around them. The string quartet continued to play its harmonic symphony, the notes gliding through the air. Jace drew her in close, dipping her down low, his eyes taking in all that was before him._

"_You're as beautiful as always, Clarissa," he whispered heatedly, his breath tickling her skin. Clary growled playfully as he pulled her back up, picking up her body and spinning them around in a circle._

_The redhead locked her hands around his neck and gazed down into his golden eyes. How she managed to snag this man for the taking, she'll never know. But she knew for certain that she would never leave his side for as long as she lived._

"_I don't ever want to let you go, Jace," she said deeply, bringing her face in close to the blonde. He was her safe harbour, and there was no way she wanted to lose someone who she trusted._

"_Don't worry. I won't let you go anywhere, Morgenstern." _

_Morgenstern._

_His flirtatious demeanor disappeared, and Clary found her face reflected back on cold, unfeeling eyes. Her body froze up as Jace dropped her onto the ground. He pulled her arms up and over his head. Eyes widened at the cold iron cuffs linking her wrists together. Gone was the beautiful dress, replaced by a bright orange jumpsuit drenched in blood at the arms and knees. _

"_Jace, no – please, I didn't mean to—"_

_His smile was cold and unflinching, his eyes hardened as they looked at her. "Don't worry Morgenstern – you won't be leaving my sight for the next fifty years."_

"_Jace, no – I'm not a Morgenstern! I'm not like Valentine! I'M NOT LIKE VALENTINE!"_

"_Yes you are Clarissa."_

_Her blood froze as Jace's hair turned to silver platinum; his face shifting ever so slightly in shape while his eyes grew darker. Valentine peered back into her eyes, holding her tightly by the arms. His hold was strong, and tight enough that Clary feared her blood circulation would be cut off._

"_You're a Morgenstern by blood and by spirit," he stated, his voice bouncing off the prison walls around her. He grasped ahold of her hands and pulled them up in front of her. She held a handgun in one palm, and the other had a knife encrusted with dried blood. "You'll never be able to escape your heritage, child of mine."_

Clary woke up with a start, clutching the knife stashed beneath her pillow while her chest heaved uncontrollably. She shot upright and held her freehand to her face, her cheeks damp with muffled tears. The bed wasn't hers; it was stiff from the lack of use, still getting accustomed to her shape. The bedspreads weren't hers; they were dark, versatile gunmetal silver and black, with the occasional blue thrown in to break it. The room was cold, featuring the bare essentials such as a set of drawers with a lamp and a digital alarm clock winking in the dark – all things that were opposite to her own personal possessions.

_That's right,_ she remembered,_ Jonathan's apartment._

The redhead released her grip on the knife and curled up against her knees as she clutched her head, screaming internally. That dream – no, that… _nightmare_, was all too realistic, all too probable. The likelihood of that becoming her reality was too high for her liking. She brushed her hair off her face and stared at her palms, the grooves and the faded white lines etched into her fingertips from the many splinters and paper-cuts'.

"What the hell have you done, Fray?"

* * *

_._

_My life flashed before my eyes_

_Razor-blade lips and daggers up in your eyes_

_Ba-by, your love is a crime_

_Danger by day, but you're evil in the night_

Jace cut through an alleyway, abandoning the more, well-traveled paths for a secluded route, shaded by the suburban houses and borderline fences. He sped up along the footpath, the sound of music thumping in his ears and his heart racing in his chest. Sweat glistened on his face as he huffed in the cold morning air, his skin colliding with the dew from the early fog.

_My life flashed before my eyes_

_Bombs over Broadway, f-fire in the sky_

_Ba-by your love is a crime_

_Danger by day, but you're evil in the night_

The blonde came out of the alleyway and looked briefly both ways before leaping across the road, heading for the park just a few blocks away from his home. Very few people were out at this hour, save for the heavy marathon runners and sportsmen. Jace briefly waved to the regulars he passed by as he traded concrete for grass, crossing onto the dirt path leading up around the pond. A million things lingered on his mind, and right at the top was a certain redhead whose presence weighed heavily upon him.

"_Have dinner with me."_

He slowed down and stopped by a tall tree, leaning against the trunk for support. He stepped forward and stretched out his hamstrings, wincing as he felt his muscles briefly clamp up before relaxing again. A few female runners rushed by, gazing adoringly at the muscular cop, from the green singlet hugging his build to the tapered track pants covering his long legs. Jace paid no heed to their glances, his mind focused on something else far more important.

"_Well I guess it's a yes then."_

"Dammit," Jace hissed, pushing off the tree trunk. He braced his palms against his knee and ran his fingers through the loose strands that had fallen out of the tiny ponytail at the back of his head. "What am I going to do?"

Jace felt lost, stuck in a stagnate state. He didn't know who he was anymore. Ever since Clary came around, things had been different in his personal life. He was nervous about her, because he didn't know what to expect from a woman such as her. All his ex's, besides a select group of past girlfriends - had been loose cannons, the type who simply waited on hand and foot for him to shower them with affection and desire. Clary was different; she had a free spirit about her, a sense of independency about her that Jace had no hope of controlling. She kept dancing in and out of his reach, defying every assumption he had concocted about her.

For once in life, Jace was scared that he might be out of her league.

That idea alone, made his hair bristle with fear.

The blonde looked up to the sky, watching the sun makes it early ascension to it's throne above the clouds. He didn't want to mess up with the Fray girl; already she'd become someone he considered important, someone he wanted to get to know intimately without any barriers between them. He wanted her to learn about the real Jace, not the image of self-righteousness that everyone had painted of him. He had just as many flaws as the next man, and he didn't want to hide them away from her. He pulled one earphone out and let it dangle against his neck.

"Whatever happens man, don't screw things up," he vowed to himself. "Don't lose this girl, Jace."

"HOLY SHIT, THERE'S A DUCKLING COMING TOWARDS US!"

"WHERE THE FUCK IS IT!" Jace jumped up and backed up against the tree. He scanned the area for the viscous beasts, his eyes wide open and on the hunt for the furry ball of feathers. His earphones fell out as he searched the green park for the invaders of his peaceful world.

A tinkling laugh chimed through his ears, erasing all thought from his mind. "Damn, that never gets old – ah ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Jace eyes crinkled up in annoyance as he spotted the source of the loud guffaw, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. "I hate you, and I hope you die a slow, torturous death, you hag."

"Now is that anyway to behave towards me?"

Jace rolled his eyes and watched Aline Penhallow curl up into a ball of laughter, slumping onto the ground with tears in her eyes. Aline was a cheeky, devious little woman, who made up her lack of height with dangerously high levels of sarcasm and extroverted personality. Taking after the Commissioner, Aline shared exotic Asian features, with silky black locks that had been updated from a shoulder-length cut to a layered bob that framed her face. Round, almond-shaped brown eyes were balanced delicately on her sweet face, with curved cheekbones and plump lips set in a pout.

"One day, Aline Penhallow, God will smite the very ground where you stand. I pray he burns that stupid smirk off your face."

"You make it too easy, dweeb," Aline said loftily, her breathing returning back to normal. "I have no regrets, blondie."

The petite Asian woman sauntered over to the blonde with a cheeky grin on her face. She wore a pair of black aeroknit shorts and a neon-pink long-sleeve compression shirt. Her pale skin was flushed with endorphins and her eyes were full of secrets.

"Now this is the part where you go 'how've you been, Aline?' 'What have you been up to Aline?'"

Jace snorted airily and turned his head to the side stubbornly. "You don't deserve my respect, woman."

"Oh, c'mon," Aline moaned comically. She stood side-by-side with the blonde and poked him repeatedly in the ribs. "It wasn't that bad, was it? Are you that upset with me?"

Jace rolled his eyes as pushed the young woman away from his side. "What are you doing back here though?" He asked, his attitude no loner that of a moody pessimistic, pubescent teenager. "Last I saw, you were working over in New Jersey working for the Times up there?"

"Well, I got a call from the New York Sun and they offered me a better pay than Jersey Shore. Besides, things are getting pretty interesting down here, especially with all the crime rates going up a notch. Guess you'll be seeing me here around the Institute more often."

Jace rolled his eyes at the woman. Her strong sense of curiosity and social skills were what set her on a path to being a journalist. In high school, she ran both the online news forum on Facebook, and was chief editor of both the student newsletter that was printed out once a month, and the school yearbook. The woman was stubborn too - while other reporters and journalists knew when to turn tail and run for the hills, Aline stuck her nose up in the air and strode towards the action, regardless of the danger that accompanied it.

The blonde policeman looked at the dirt track, watching it as it bended around the pond. "Coming with?"

Aline grinned clipped her hair back out of her eyes. "Thought you were never going to ask. Same route?"

"Always."

The duo separated from the tree and ran along the dirt track, both of them maintaining a steady pace. They were familiar with the terrain of the neighbourhood, their feet guiding them along the track almost instinctively. The two had been close in high school, growing up in the same neighbourhood and with the same friends. With her mother being the Commissioner, Aline found herself more often than not getting into a heap of trouble with the Lightwood lot. She was the idealist of their gang - the one who came up with the ideas while Jace came up with the strategies to complete their mini-missions.

"So how have you been anyways?" Jace huffed.

"Fantastic, really," Aline huffed back. She skipped ahead in front of Jace as they passed a pair of running buddies, smiling politely at them and saying 'good morning' to them. "My girlfriend brought me with her to see her family in the area. They adore me. I'm practically the sunshine in their hectic lives, and her younger siblings pretty much worship me. I think it's safe to say they're already planning our future together." Aline turned her head as she slowed down to match Jace's pace. "How's my mother been treating you? Still getting the royal treatment up at the Institute?"

"Of course," Jace said sarcastically. "Although I'm pretty sure she's warmed up to me now."

"Keep dreaming pretty boy. You know it's takes a lot for my mother to like someone."

The pair raced ahead out of the park, crossing the busy road and passing the row of stores lined up along the road. The small businesses were just beginning to open up, their employee's setting up the stalls and tables outside their doors.

"So, what's been going on in your love life, Herondale?"

Jace stumbled back, shock on his face. "How the hell—"

"I stuck around a little bit before I pulled the duckling card on you," Aline said guiltily, slowing down as she waited for Jace to catch up to her. "You were giving yourself the 'pep talk'." She began to jog backwards, a look of dark glee covering her face. "So tell me, blondie. Who's got you whipped?"

Jace's face began to slowly turn red. "No one's got me whipped, alright?"

Aline raised both eyebrows mockingly. "Ri-ight," she said with a wink. "So if I go ask your siblings, will I get the same story from them?"

"Stubborn woman," Jace growled. He huffed as they both went around a sharp corner, coming down the street where Jace lived with the Lightwoods. "It's this woman I met a few weeks ago. She helped me out and… I dunno, I guess I just started to like her."

Aline braced one hand against his chest, stopping him mid-run. She wagged one finger in front of his face. "'Like her'? _Like_ her?" she scoffed. "'Like' is what you and I had buddy; I saw how you were acting before and you looked like you had the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. This isn't some girl that you just '_like'_ buddy boy. You're actually treating this girl more seriously than you did with us."

Jace sighed. He and Aline once had a relationship of sorts, the kind that was more 'friends with benefits' kind of deal. They were each other's rebound, the one they gravitated towards when they were either bored out of their minds, or at an impasse in their own separate relationships. There were moments where they were completely synchronised with one another, as if they were one mind split apart into two bodies, but those moments were easily overwhelmed by memories of skin sliding against skin. Jace had ended it in their senior year in a gentlemanly fashion, and Aline had gracefully accepted the reality of things, albeit a little shattered with regards to her confidence levels. But since then Aline had grown to respect his boundaries and found others to love in her life, but men and women.

The blonde toyed with the small ponytail at the back of his head and blushed. "It's just… this girl is different, you know? She's not just someone that I want to sleep around with. I've hung out with her a few times now, and – I don't know, there's just this inner fire in her that gets me all revved up. I don't want to play around with her like I did with all those other chicks back in school."

Aline had her head angled to the side, her arms folded across her chest. Jace half-expected her to be semi-jealous of this girl she knew absolutely nothing about, but instead she was calm, almost thoughtful about the whole situation he was in. She looked up contemplatively at the blonde, a small smile on her lips.

"You're totally whipped," she concluded, reaching out to tap him on his bicep. "I don't even think I had you feeling that deep about us when we were together." She reached out towards him and her face turned to a cheeky monkey grin, one that held no malice of any sort for this phantom girl. "I want to meet her – this girl that has you doing double-takes. Think she'll be scared off if you tell her that? Or are you more afraid that I'm going to claw out her face?"

The blonde rolled his eyes and chuckled. He reached out and slung one arm sluggishly over her shoulders. She staggered beneath his weight, but Jace knew that it was all an act. The girl was tougher than her appearance lead one to believe.

"If things get really serious, then I'll introduce you to her," Jace promised the journalist. "I trust you well enough not to try and scare off from me. But do me a favor, and don't get too touchy with her."

Aline crossed a 'x' over her heart and put on an innocent face. "I make no promises, Herondale. But I'll try." She looked up down the road, her eyes focusing on the side street splitting off near the end. "Better get going before the household wakes up."

The young journalist turned back to the Blonde and hugged him briefly before running off into the distance. "See you around Herondale!" she cried out behind her.

Jace tilted his head to the side, smiling at the young half-cast woman. Aline was a welcoming blast from the past. He couldn't believe how much had changed between them.

Jace ran the last leg of his run, sprinting down the long driveway to the two-story house. He tapped his black Chevrolet as he raced past and jogged around to the back door. He pulled out his I-phone to check his time. Despite the slight interruption with the younger Penhallow, he'd still managed to make an acceptable timing for his run. Jace wiped the sweat off his brow and marched into the household, where a familiar kid began to make breakfast in the kitchen.

"That's one of the slowest times you've ever had of all time, Jace."

Jace pulled both earphones out and ruffled the youngest Lightwood's hair. Max Lightwood was the baby of the family, and by far the cutest. He had a pure sense of innocence about him, and his shyness and cluelessness only succeeded in increasing his cuteness factor. Like his older brother, Max had clear blue eyes as brilliant as frozen ice, with oversized glasses tilted slightly askew on his nose. He was tall, gangly with long limbs, and a mop of dark hair falling across his scalp. At fifteen years old, his future in the both the looks and dating department were promising. He was mature for his age, his thinking a little old-fashioned in comparison to the ways of society.

The blonde smirked as he mixed up his smoothie in the blender, chucking in a plethora of fruits and assorted dairy products. The young boy had quite the fan club at his school. On the off-times he went to go pick up the Lightwood, Jace would see a group of young teenage adolescents gathered about and waving him off the school grounds, some of them teary-eyed while others would whisper threateningly to one another.

"Caught up with Aline," Jace explained over the din in the kitchen. "Remember her?"

"The girlfriend you use to bring over for 'sexy-time'?" The young kid teased profusely. "How could I forget her? You kept sneaking out of the house to go hook up with her at the skate-park."

Max dished up his bacon and eggs on toast and marched over to the table, where a myriad of manga books, comics, and school textbooks teetered dangerously on the edge of the long table. The young boy plopped down and yawned, scratching the back of his neck. His boxer shorts hung loosely on his body, and his maroon hoodie all but engulfed his upper torso.

"You going anywhere today?" Jace asked, prying the lid off the kitchen appliance and emptying its contents into a large glass.

"Nope," Max replied, putting large amount of emphasis on the 'p'. "I've got some stuff to work on with the Blackthorns. They're coming over later on today." He began chewing away on his toast, devouring the bacon and poached egg on top. "By da way, wid Wissabelle 'n—"

"Swallow first kid," Jace interrupted.

The young boy obeyed and swallowed the food contents in his mouth. "Did Izzy come home last night?"

The blonde arched one eyebrow over his eye. The Lightwoods had left the jazz bar at separate times last night; Jace had a brief run-in with the blue-eyed cop and his ride for the night, the social philanthropist Magnus Bane – before leaving shortly after his redhead had disappeared down the road. "I heard Alec come in this morning, but I'm not sure about Izzy though… either way, Izzy will be fine. She knows where we live, and she knows the number for the house."

Max rolled his eyes at his older adopted brother's indifference and continued engulfing the food.

"Mom and Pops leave already?" Jace inquired, referring to his adopted parents. Maryse and Robert Lightwood.

"Yep," Max said with a pop.

Jace picked up his phone and scrolled through his contact list, searching for Clary's number near the top. When he found it, he sent a brief message to her:

_**Jace:**__ Hope you got home safe, Red. _

_Send._

Jace placed the phone back in his pocket. He didn't expect an instant reply back to him, what with it being super early in the morning and all. For all he knew, she could be sleeping in back wherever she was. This was still new territory to him, the whole 'taking care' side of a relationship. He didn't even know if they in a relationship or not, but they seemed to be heading that direction. The blonde rolled his eyes and toyed juggled an orange in his hand.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, thundering throughout the empty house. Alec appeared from around the corner, half-dressed in jeans and a black tank top, with his hair a complete mess and a faint bruise at the base of his throat. He held his hand to his head and squinted in the early sunlight that streamed through the kitchen window. Jace grinned deliriously.

"Someone get some action last night?" said Jace to the hung-over cop. Alec growled at the blonde as he fumbled about in the medicine cabinet for a cure for his hangover.

"You can't talk, Jace. Did you run around outside with that hickey on your neck, Barbie-doll?" Jace's good mood faded as he instantaneously reached up to feel for his neck, looking in the reflection of his I-phone to see what Alec was on about. There were two bruises fading slightly against his tanned skin, but they were there nonetheless for the world to see. Jace smirked at the memory of Clary's lips latching onto his own, the fierce hunger that glittered behind her emerald eyes.

_Beep. _Jace felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to see what new notification Facebook had alerted him to. His gaze widened as he recognized a new message coming in from Clary's number.

_**Red: **__Don't worry Batman – I made it back to Watchtower safe and sound._

His face turned a light shade of pink as he read the message, his blood pumping a series of endorphins throughout his whole body. That was woman was the complete package; beautiful, talented, spirited, carefree, and a jokester.

"You've got fifteen minutes to get ready, and then you're coming with me," Alec ordered, downing the Advil with his pre-made protein juice from the night before.

"Why so bossy, Alexander?" Jace asked jokingly, his daydreams interrupted by the older boy. "It's only quarter to seven on a Sunday morning. Not like we've got anywhere to be. And stop calling me 'Barbie-doll'!"

"Quit the act, Barbie-doll," Alec reprimanded, ignoring his command. "Izzy just checked in at the Institute this morning, and she found something big on the way to work. You're never going to guess what it was."

"A Ferrari has been donated to the precinct for the use of the one and only Golden Boy? Took them long enough to get that—"

"Not that, you big lummox. Someone gift-wrapped drug-lord President Axel Mortmain from the Pandemonium Empire and ditched him out the front for the NYPD Institute."

* * *

The Institute was buzzing with activity. All minor officers made any excuse they could to go visit the holding cells, where the drug-lord lay in waiting, his body trembling with a combination of rage and fear while he nursed his bandaged hand. His body had been found over an hour earlier near a dumpster by a homeless civilian, with duct tape over his lips and a note for the Institute. The whole campus was going notes, with the top guns debating over what to do with the criminal while the homeless guy was being interviewed over the details of this morning's event.

And all the while Isabelle was staring at her reflection in her compact mirror, wondering why on earth she felt like she'd been rejected.

The young Lightwood was stationed outside the holding cell, since she was the first officer on the scene from her way to the Institute. She sat at the desk outside the cells, flipping off all the drunken nobodies' who made tragic attempts to flirt with her behind the bars. Every time a rookie tried to sneak a glimpse into the cell, she would snap a rubber band from the endless supply provided at the supervision desk and shoo him away, giving them the glacial stare that made them quiver in their boots.

"I don't get it," she mumbled to herself, glancing down at her uniform-clad body. "What is wrong with him?"

"Izzy! There you are."

The graceful woman looked up from the desk and watched her siblings trail around the corner - both dressed out of uniform but with their badges in their hands. Isabelle straightened up her back and her eyes widened in relief as she saw the blonde guy.

"Oh, thank god you're here," she said, directing her remarks to her adopted brother. "Listen, I have a question for you—"

"Where is he?" Alec demanded.

"He's in the Bull Pen," Isabelle replied breezily, pushing the strands of dark hair back into her perfectly sleek ponytail. Jace tried to sneak a glance into the holding cells, but Isabelle narrowed her eyes to slits and fired a rubber band in the centre of his forehead.

"Gahh – what the hell Iz?" Jace rubbed at his forehead, snarling at his sister.

"No visitors allowed," she admonished firmly. "Unless you want to take over baby-sitting duty."

"He probably smells like trash," Alec said crudely, wrinkling his nose up. "Is it true that he was wrapped up for us?"

Isabelle nodded and picked up a file she had on the desk and pulled out a copy of the note that had been left on Mortmain's personnel. "The real things up in the evidence locker, but the guy found this on him."

Jace snatched the copy out of her hands before Alec could get a chance, his eyes scanning the words written on the page. The written was written in elegant handwriting, each letter ending with a flourish at the end of every stroke and curving delicately across the page. Isabelle already knew what the words would say; she'd been observing the words, taking notice of how effortless they seemed to the naked eye. Whoever wrote that had fantastic penmanship in her eyes – her own writing was beautiful enough, but compared to that it looked like chicken-scrawl.

_A present for the bluebloods of New York City – _

_A lot of effort went into not decapitating this bastard,_

_So make it worth our while_

"Who do you think trussed him up for us?" Alec asked, taking the copy out of Jace's hands.

"Some vigilante maybe," Isabelle guessed.

Jace looked over Alec's shoulder and wrinkled his eyes. "What's with the name 'bluebloods'?"

"It's a medieval term," Alec explained. "A nickname used for members of society who were of noble birth or had royal blood running through their veins."

"Okay then, Mr. Encyclopedia. Want to explain what they're talking about in here?"

Alec looked at Jace with a dummy look on his face. He reached out and flicked the grown man in the center of his forehead. "Us, you egg – the police, the city council, everyone with good intentions on their mind. Honestly, how you survived with the knowledge you have in that pea-sized brain of yours baffles me."

"Whatever. So is the schmuck going straight to jail?" Jace demanded, his eyes scanning the area behind him, watching fellow comrades move to and fro in the department.

"Nothing's been said yet. The minute he came to, he started going off about calling in his lawyer, and since then he's had his mouth sown shut for goodness knows how long." Isabelle snapped her fingers in front of Jace for his attention like a trainer commanding their fluffy golden retriever to go fetch. "Look at me—"

"Lightwoods."

Commissioner Penhallow sashayed her way to the holding cell, accompanied by two detectives. Isabelle quickly got up off her chair and clasped her hands firmly behind her back. "Ma'am."

The Commissioner looked at the trio gathered together, her eyes narrowed. "When I give you an order to keep everyone away from the cell, the order also extended to your siblings here, Officer Lightwood."

"We're sorry about that ma'am," Alec intervened. Isabelle silently thanked her big brother for his over-protective personality. "We were asking Isabelle to get us up to speed on the matter."

The older woman turned her head stiffly. Her stare was hard and piercing as she looked at Isabelle's other brother. "I thought I gave you leave until things had calmed down around here, Herondale."

"You did ma'am," Jace affirmed, straightening out the leather jacket he had slung over a black v-neck shirt. "But I think I can handle a few hecklers or two who come my way. Besides, isn't it better to have all hands on deck? I mean, considering that there is a high-profile drug lord sitting in the Bullpen at this very point in time. A name like his is bound to draw attention to our city, especially after what just went down in Brooklyn."

Commissioner Penhallow gazed shrewdly at the blonde. Honestly, that boy never knew when to keep his mouth shut. His intentions were honest and true, but he just spouted whatever he had before filtering everything out.

Isabelle had a strong urge to slap her brother in the face.

Repeatedly.

With a sledgehammer.

Either Commissioner Penhallow was in a good mood or she decided to overlook his outburst, but whatever the case she gave Jace a brief nod with her chin before pointing to the jail cell. "Might as well be useful while you're here then. Detectives' Whitelaw and Bellefleur here will take charge on this case until a lawyer comes in to represent him. I want you two—"she gestured to Isabelle and Jace, "to take point on security detail. No one goes in or out of his room without my say-so. Are we clear?"

"Yes ma'am," they chorused.

.

"Jace, am I hot?"

The blonde nearly gagged on his own saliva. Isabelle had a serious expression on her face, completely devoid of any humor in her eyes. It was the kind of face that one wore when they were eying up their opponent in a cage fight, the kind that whispered in your nightmares and said '_try-to-get-out-of-this-and-I-will-put-you-in-a-body-cast'_. Very threatening yet subtle at the same time.

The pair stood outside the door, where the drug lord had been moved into a private interrogation cell. The room was based up on the third level of the building, where the detectives resided with their many spaces reserved for on-going investigations on cold-cases and matters alike. Very few rookies had the privilege of dwelling on the third floor. The Institute was set up into various levels for the different departments existing within the justice systems; the rookies and patrol officers held their own down on ground-floor and first floor, with the grunts and morticians living down in the Freezer on basement level. Level two belonged to the forensics department, where the nerds got to play around with their chemicals and imitate crime scenes for the sake of science. The third floor was for the more experienced players, the ones who had earned their way up and had been promoted to various positions.

Golden boy looked at his sister apprehensively. "You are aware that you're my sister, right? Even if it is only on a piece of paper."

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her paper. "Hypothetically," she started anew, "If you had met me for the first time in a club, what would your first impression be of me?"

Jace stroked his jaw thoughtfully as he pondered his adopted sibling's words. "You are my female counterpart," he decided matter-of-factly. "Assertive, dominant badass chick who likes to be on top in the bed, likes to play around but has standards, god's gift to the unworthy mortals that dwell on this planet."

The dark-haired woman sighed. Those were all very true attributes - although she was one hundred percent sure that she beat the blonde in the looks department. Isabelle tightened the ponytail on the back of her head and smoothed out the baggy uniform shirt.

"Were you hoping for something else?" the blonde teased sarcastically. The dark-haired woman threw him a withering look and glanced at her nails. "Anyways, want to tell us which guy you stayed with last night?"

"You make it sound like I have a list of one-night stands at the ready," Isabelle retorted dryly. "This coming from a rehabilitated playboy."

Jace held one finger up towards his sibling. "Keyword there is 'rehabilitated'." He angled his body so he could focus his attention on Isabelle and put on his best, most sincere listening face. "What's got you all riled up?"

The brunette looked around cautiously and feigned ignorance. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I doubt it," Jace commented. "You don't a conversation with that particular opening statement unless you've got something on your mind."

"…"

"…I'm waiting."

Isabelle gave in and looked off to the side, tapping her fingertips together. "You know Clary's roommate Simon…"

Jace arched one eyebrow high on his face, his lips contorting in a cringe. He held no ill feelings towards the guy neither did he find him threatening in his pursuit of Clary. "Lewis?" He gave Isabelle a patronising glance. "Oh poor you. Is he a dud?"

The young woman glared, her eyes narrowing to thin slits while rage recoiled off her shoulders. "Can you be serious please?" she hissed.

Jace shrugged. "Yes. I do know him," he said blandly, ignoring her question entirely. "Can't say that I'm fond of him, but he's bearable – and a nice substitute for a good laugh." Isabelle bit her lower lip hesitantly, as if she were unsure whether to consult the blonde for her issues. Jace rolled his eyes. "Will you spit it out already."

The rookie officer looked off to the side. "Does he seem like he's gay?"

Jace glared at her blandly. "No, because his sense of fashion is boorish and dull, and the guy blubbers like a dying fish in front of the ladies." Jace straightened up and his eyes widened as realisation dawned upon him. "Wait… are you worried about that guy—"

Isabelle clamped a hand on his mouth, digging her nails in the side of his cheek. "Shut up, Herondale," she snarled lowly, her eyes darkening. "I'm going to remove my hand away and you _will_ be quiet about this. Are we clear?" The blonde nodded and held both hands up in surrender before she pulled her hand away, retracting back to her position by the door.

"Last night I stayed at Simon's apartment," she explained dejectedly. "I was too tired to catch a ride back home, and I didn't have time to ask around my social circle for a place to sleep at. Not to mention big brother Alec was getting touchy-feely with Mr. Bane. Simon said he could stay at mine after hearing my predicament and… he was really nice. He let me have his bed, gave me a tour of the important stops in the flat, gave me a few snacks before sending my ragged behind into bed. He even took my heels off, and gave me a foot massage when I complained how sore my feet were. He made me, I left his place, and now I'm here."

Jace shrugged his shoulders. He didn't understand what Isabelle was getting to. "So he was being a gentleman – aren't those qualities what women look for in a man?"

The brunette groaned. "My point is that he was a perfect gentlemen _the whole time._ He didn't hit on me at all, he didn't try to sneak a look when I put on one of his shirts – right in front of him, I might add," Isabelle included dramatically in a whisper, "and – and – he was just _nice._"

"And now you think that maybe your hotness factor has defaulted," Jace confirmed. The female Lightwood shrugged her shoulders more or less, which was as good as a 'yes' in his books. The blonde huffed and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't worry Iz. You're still as hot as you were yesterday. From my observations of Lewis, he doesn't seem to be the guy that would come out straightaway. Case of the nerves, I reckon." Jace's gaze turned thoughtful and serene. "Maybe you were just a little too intimidating for him to handle, or it could be that you're the first chick to throw any attention his way, so he's probably a little shell-shocked."

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. Jace could tell that she was unsatisfied with his profile of the band-geek, but that was his honest opinion of the guy. Besides, he was curious to see why his sister – who had many, many, _many _men chasing after her, would show such a determined interest in why this guy wasn't flirting back with her.

"Don't worry little sis," he said consolingly with a mocking smirk, "there are plenty of other fish swimming in the sea."

"Would you both shut up about your life problems?" A voice interrupted behind the door. "I am suffering from a concussion and a bleeding holes in my hand. You're not making it any better with your yapping."

Jace rolled his eyes and ambled his way in front of the door. The room had a narrow glass window for that allowed outsiders to peer into the plain room, with the wooden bench and grey-wash walls. Axel Mortmain had a look of cool indifference, tempered with a hint of annoyance that was evident in his tone.

"He's quite docile, isn't he?" Jace said calmly to his sister. "No banging around, no foul language spewing from his mouth, nothing – he seems way to quiet to be a drug lord."

The grey-haired Englishman tipped his head back against the wall, his grey eyes zeroing in on Jace's golden ones. "'_A man's manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.' _Unlike the riff-raff you have collected in your cells down below, I actually have the decency not to act like repulsive brats. I'm even willing to cooperate with police if I must."

"If you're hoping for early parole, old man, then you better stop wasting time," Isabelle cut in. "Filth such as yourselves don't deserve to be out on the streets."

The man pursed his lips in annoyance at Isabelle's behavior. "You'd be the first girl I'd throw out if someone brought you to me. Too unladylike for my taste – no sense of formality or propriety at all."

Jace's palm twitched. He held his hand up as Isabelle took a step closer to the door, twisting his back to the door. "He's not worth it," he said coldly. Isabelle's lower lip trembled with rage and Jace glared at her. "Move back, Izzy."

"Yes dearie," Mortmain cackled. "Listen to your blonde comrade and take a step back."

Jace twisted back to the door and threw the man a look of complete and utter hate. He was thankful that the cell was located at the end of the hall, away from prying eyes and noises alike. "You wouldn't happen to remember the guys who brought your ragged behind to our doorstep, would you?" he asked smarmily. "I think I'll send them a thank-you card."

Mortmain chuckled, the laugh scraping along the sides of his throat like sandpaper. "I highly doubt those siblings will accept your gratitude. Maybe that redhead fiend… More likely they'll put a poor nobody in a body bag just to prove that they're not on the same side as you moral folk."

_Siblings? Redhead fiend? Same side?_ Jace's mind processed those words. Calculating the meaning behind them. _Maybe this was gang-related,_ he thought internally. _Removing the competition in the area._

"Oh, come on," Jace said cockily. "Won't you give us a little bit more detail than that? I really want to thank them."

The old man recoiled back against the wall and nursed his hand, a pensive expression crossing his face. Jace could barely hear the words coming out of his mouth s he mumbled…"-never said I couldn't say anything about them…"

Footsteps heralded the arrival of the other Lightwood, who held several copies of paper in his hands. His facial expression spoke business and Jace nodded to Isabelle to take-over baby-sitting duty while he went to talk to his brother, away from listening ears. "Be nice," he said to his sister. She stuck her tongue out at him and leaned against the doorframe, briefly flipping the captured man inside through the glass.

"What have you got there?" Jace inquired.

Alec handed him the photos. Jace found himself looking at blown-up images of a night long-forgotten. The images were a little blurry from the magnification, but he could still see the major details; the shape of a masculine body against the balcony, a blurred figure strapped to a chair.

"These are the best freeze-frames that I could get from the footage I got from Magnus's club," Alec explained. "I went through all the camera footage, and I've managed to get as much as I could on the guy's face inside the club. Then-" he continued, pulling out another photo in his hand, "I had a look at the camera's stationed outside the club. Unfortunately, you can't see his face in this one, but it's the clearest shot of him, and you can see the main details."

Jace found himself staring at a male figure clad in red and black, with hair that seemed to pale for blonde… white perhaps? Silver? _Definitely platinum blonde,_ Jace decided.

A thought scratched away beneath the surface of his mind, trying to break through to the top. There was something familiar about the guy in the freeze-frame. Jace switched to a different picture, one where he could see the whole profile. The guy had strong build, similar to his own, he might mention, and he seemed to have a few lackeys following behind. From the angle of the shot, Jace only saw a partial glimpse of the face since half his face was hidden behind his fringe. He had a look that the ladies would kill for, the kind that was on par with Jace's own appearance, albeit in a haughty, brooding way.

_He kinda looks like Clary's brother,_ he observed. _Same body-build, similar features._

"But it can't be," he mumbled beneath his breath. _That sadist seems more like the kind of guy to just end it all in one blow, not draw it out. I need a better look at his face,_ Jace decided.

"Check the street cams around the area and see if you can't get a better shot of this guy," Jace said firmly. "Find out who came in with him, and who this woman is that the victim was talking about." A thought flickered in his mind and Jace looked at Alec. "Did we end up getting an I.D on the victim's body?"

"Surprisingly yes," Alec confirmed. He pulled out a document from the folder in his hands, with a photo of the deceased individual attached to the front. "Deceased's name was Jacob Sawyer, and you were right—" he directed to Isabelle. "He was a grunt working for Santiago. The guy had a brand on the inside of his wrist identical to the ones they use on new neophytes for gang initiation. Gotta say though, whoever was working him up in the club pretty much ruined the guy. Fractured ribs, broken nose, scratches on the face."

"Did forensics pull any DNA samples that didn't belong to the victim?" Isabelle asked. "Something that could help us I.D the killer?"

"They managed to pull a few foreign DNA samples from the scratches, but the results were inconclusive. Whoever did this has a clean slate, otherwise they would've come up in the database."

Chuckling ensued from behind the closed door. All three turned their heads to watch Mortmain eye them up with an amused expression. There was something in that smile that unnerved the three of them, as if he were toying about with them.

"Those two…" he sighed in a whimsical tone. "What clever brats they are…"

Jace narrowed his eyes at the old man and pressed his fist to the glass. "Do you know something about this, old man?"

"Perhaps," Mortmain said mysteriously. "It could be my imagination, but the way you lot have been describing that suspect of yours sounds mighty familiar to Valentine's brats. The same lot that cut my business here in America at the knees."

"I'm sorry – did you say 'Valentine's brat's?' Did I hear right?"

"Are your ears glued on?" The old man mocked heavily.

"You mean..." Isabelle began, pushing Jace out of view, "'brats' as in his underlings, or 'brats' as in… b-biological demon spawn that he helped procreate?"

Mortmain eyed Isabelle up with his grey eyes. "The latter," he said bluntly.

All three froze up in shock, their widening bit by bit as this information entered their brains. The criminal lord of New York – the man that had died just last week – had _kids?_ Neither of them could comprehend this statement put before them. Their minds were going into overdrive, refusing to believe any part of it. No way could Valentine have fathered a kid?

"You think my words to be a lie, but I assure you they're true," Mortmain confirmed, reading the expressions on their faces.

"Who on God's green earth would shack up with him?" Jace said blatantly. "I mean, he's a cold-blooded murderer—"

"Actually, he just orchestrates the killings," Alec corrected. The blonde narrowed his eyes with annoyance at his brother's 'know-it-all' attitude. Alec calmly placed his hands up and backed away in surrender. "Just saying, man."

"Maybe it was a hooker," Isabelle volunteered.

The eldest Lightwood child shook his head profusely. "A man like Valentine wouldn't let his fly dangle down just for any working girl on the corner. Besides, with a face like his in his early years, I wouldn't be surprised if a dozen or so chicks wanted to hit it off with him."

"But still, he's. A. Cri-min-al," Jace emphasised, returning the conversation back to him. "On top of that, how come the department has no knowledge of this at all? You'd think that when it comes to Valentine Morgenstern, you'd make sure everyone on board the case is aware of every little detail. How could they not know about something as huge as this?!"

"Identity theft, young man." A vein pulsed dangerously in Jace's neck as he turned back towards the drug-lord, who seemed to find a great deal of pleasure in watching them argue and bicker over the idea of Valentine being a father. "Valentine's not stupid enough to let his children go out flaunting the name of Morgenstern in their everyday lives."

Jace ripped the folder out of Alec's hands, gathering all the photos' in his hands. "Swap in with me, will ya?"

The blonde trudged away from the cell, leaving both Lightwoods feeling flummoxed at the sudden change in his behaviour. "Where are you going?"

"To do some research on Valentine's past," Jace called out to them. "If he really does have a kid, then that means that the Morgenstern Empire won't collapse like we thought it would. They've probably been groomed to takeover his business when Valentine dies, so that means we've still got scumbags working on the streets."

* * *

_**Thank you to the following newbies for your feedback on my story:**_

_**-Accantnerd, thank you for taking the time to review, I never knew that about the author too so that was a nice fact to know**_

_**-TheReadingWizard, thank you so much:Shuuwai, FinnyNicky - you guys are great**_

_**\- yes AnnieBea, I did catch that reference**_

_**\- you are so right Neknais - it's so hard to find stories with badass Clary in the fanfiction world; i don't mind the typical damsel in distress sorta take in most of the stories, but it is nice to see or imagine what Clary can do with her own power. Don't worry - I will be doing a future chapter like that**_

_**And then there's my main lot: Chocolatebackground, sunsunny2 (thanks for the chats too XD), matioschka, andTIDTMIgirl1**_

_**Song: Adam Lambert - Evil in the Night**_

_**Quote by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**_

_**\- Violentkitsune**_


	29. Chapter 29: Commence Operations

**29: Commence Operations**

Jia Penhallow was unhappy. _Very_ unhappy.

In fact one might go so far as to she was feeling quite wrathful.

_And it was going so well today._

The Asian woman tapped her fingers against her desk, her French tips making a horrid sound. She knew that this line of work was chaotic, and that her position would require a lot of hard work, but she still liked to keep her nails looking nice and clean.

Hodge Starkweather, representative agent from the FBI department, fidgeted beneath her gaze. _And so he should be. _This was her city, her territory to watch over. When the FBI sends someone in to her area, the polite thing to do is ensure that the person in charge of the local department is aware of their oncoming visit. But this is the third time that she's had this guy come into her place without permission or notification, and right now she was beyond anger - especially with the news that he had just delivered.

The Asian woman moved towards the windows to the office and pulled the blinds closed. This was a highly sensitive topic that they were discussing, and she didn't want anything getting out of hand before it was due. It had been five days since the Harbor incident, and the media were starting to back away from the Morgenstern subject slowly, yet agonisingly. Jia moved back to her desk and slid the manila file that had been given to her towards her body and held it up for Hodge to see. The older, gray-haired man stared down the length of his nose at her expression, holding her stare with one of his own.

"Let me get this clear, Agent Starkweather," she began. "We invested all our resources into ambushing a well-known black market dealer and criminal mastermind – who in the end killed himself out of defiance, spent days dealing with the press who believes the city is now exempt of this particular individual - and now you're telling me that our dead body is _not _Valentine Morgenstern?"

"Unfortunately, yes ma'am."

The woman placed herself in her high-back leather chair and pressed her fingertips together. Her blood pressure was on a steady increase on the stress gradient. Any higher and her blood vessels would pop. "Your department took the body with them, so explain to me how this was brought to light."

Hodge heaved a heavy sigh from his chest and straightened up on his seat. "The forensic department performed an autopsy on the deceased, and they found a few items of interest on his personal. The first was that the man had suffered from a number of blunt attacks in the mid-region, along with the remains of cyanide in his system. From the reports that have been taken into account, no attacks were made on the man, so this was an irregular discovery that contradicted the statements given to us. On closer inspection they found that the man had a set of coloured contacts in his eyes, which they swiftly removed after the discovery. So they decided to take a swab and contact a DNA test, to confirm the identity of the body from the scene. The results of the tests are in the file before you."

The Commissioner picked up the file and flipped it open, taking out the photo stapled to the victim's report. "'Alistair Bremworth, aged forty-three years old. Father of three and married for sixteen years.'" Jia flung the file back onto the desk and stared back at the visiting agent. "So this man was a fake all along."

" 'Fraid so, Ma'am. Although it would seem that he was coerced into playing the role of Valentine in last week's incident. We sent someone down to check on the family yesterday. Wife was warned by her attackers that if she tried to call the police about her husband's situation, then her kids would be killed off one by one."

Jia Penhallow was not one to let her emotions get the best of her. One does not simply have a tantrum every time something went wrong under her nose, but in this case, she was coming very close to blowing up. "I'll have to write a letter of condolence to the family," she acknowledged. "We can't let this go unnoticed."

"With all due respect, Commissioner," the agent began pompously, 'the fault lies with that blonde rookie of yours."

Jia eyes were unwavering as she peered at the grey-haired man with distrust. "If you're man had stayed put instead of trying to be a hero, that man would still be alive. And we wouldn't have this mess on our hands—"

"With all due respect, that rookie officer of mine was doing his job," the commissioner defended. "His approach may not have been the best, but he had good intentions. Besides, I highly doubt it would have made any difference if we had brought the man in straight away or not. No doubt that man would've gone to great lengths to keep his family safe, even if it meant going taking on the someone else's identity to do so."

Hodge wrinkled his nose in the air but remained unperturbed by her response. If he was annoyed by her answer, he was certainly good at hiding the signs. "How do you plan to tell explain this to the media?"

"I'm not," Jia replied straight away. "We tell the people now and the public will go into a frenzy. No, we'll keep this under wraps for now. The public is already buzzing over the fact that Mortmain was brought in ob the weekend, and Valentine thinks we've already got him out of the game – we'll go along with this and continue searching for him like we did before."

Hodge rubbed his eyes lazily and gazed at the woman with contempt. "I hope you know what you're doing, Commissioner. I'll be making frequent visits here, Commissioner, so—"

"Frequent visits?" Alarm bells rang in Jia's head as she eyed the man before her. "What are you talking about?"

Hodge pulled up the briefcase by the side of his bed and pulled out a file. "This is a letter of my transfer here to the Institute from my boss back in Washington. They're going to want consistent reports on the case, so they've sent me here to take point, with yourself included. You'll be in charge of the whole operation, but I will hold some considerable influence as well."

The older woman popped the collar of her suit and inhaled sharply, eyeing up all the details that made this thing the real deal. It had all the right signatures from all the right people in all the right places. _Well, that's just splendid. Another example of how the C.I.A continue to rub their power in my face._

Jia cleared her throat and handed the slip back to Hodge, who stowed it back in his briefcase. "Since you've been working on this case the longest, I'm sure you'll be able to help us out with getting Valentine." Her tone was welcoming, disguising her annoyance with the powers that be that put this man before her. "If there is anything within my power that you need, I will endeavour to supply it for you."

"Thank you, Commissioner," Hodge said. His voice had taken on a more superior tone, and Jia's thought's on the C.I.A plummeted incredibly so. He stood up and straightened out his outfit while he held his briefcase in hand. "I look forward to working with your department in the future."

Jia Penhalllow escorted the older gentleman out of the office and watched him stride down the corridor. A person sidled up beside her and watch the man disappear around the corner.

"Are you sure it's wise to let the C.I.A intrude on our turf like this?" Detective Whitelaw spoke aloud. "This is the third time they've come unannounced, and now they're keeping someone here to 'help us' out."

The boss breathed heavily and pulled the hem of her blazer down. "There are some things which are outside of our control, Marian," she said firmly. "As my daughter likes to say, 'Get hard and get on with it. There's more to life than petty needs.'"

* * *

.

"And you're telling me all of this why?"

"_Because you're a girl. And I need insight into a woman's mind for just a bit."_

Clary rolled her eyes and glanced at the mirror attached to the vanity in the bathroom. She pulled the mascara wand from the tube and brushed her eyelashes, darkening her lashes from burgundy to black in a matter of seconds.

"Okay Simon," she said aloud, talking to said-man on the phone. The device was on speaker, and Clary could hear every word coming out of his blubbering mouth bounce along the walls of the bathroom. _Geez, bathrooms do have great acoustics, _she thought amusedly. "Just walk me through your worries."

"_Okay… the other night after the band's performance I brought Isabelle back to our place because her ride disappeared and it was real late too."_

_Aah, yes,_ Clary thought. _Isabelle Lightwood with endless legs for days and a body like a Victoria Secret model. _Her thoughts on the stunning dark-haired woman were positive, and she liked the flustered look Simon had whenever she was in his vicinity. "Kay, keep going. I'm still here."

"_I made sure she was really comfortable, got her some snacks and showed her the room to sleep in. Don't worry, I kept her out of your studio and your room."_

"Thank you for the consideration, although I would've been fine if she stayed in my room."

"_And… I don't know. She was acting real weird around me._"

Clary arched one eyebrow as she looked at her reflection. She traded her mascara wand for the straightener and pulled it up to her head, turning her mass of curls into a straight, cascading river of red hair. "How so?"

"_She just kept glancing at me the whole time,_" he best friend moaned on the phone. "_And I don't know how I feel about it."_

Clary scrunched up her eyebrows as she felt the roots of her hair sizzle from the heat. She'd brought the straightener to close to her scalp and now she was paying the price for it. "Was it the ugly eyes, the fish eyes, the WTF eyes – I have a whole list that I can ramble about, so you gotta tell me when to stop."

Simon went quiet on the other end. Her expression turned serious as she looked at the phone; Simon may be a quiet, goofy guy out in public, but he had a lot to say on his mind, especially when she was the chosen audience for his spiel. Silence meant that things were either bad or...

"Simon? Come on buddy," she coaxed.

"…"

"Simon?"

The voice on the other end came out muffled and Clary couldn't understand a single word the guy was saying.

"My gibberish is a bit rusty so you're gonna have to be a bit clearer here—"

"_She was pulling the sexy eyes on me,"_ his voice let out in a stutter. Everything came spilling out at once like air from a balloon. "_And I don't know if she was being serious or just playing around to make me feel better about myself. Now that I look at it, she was getting real close to me at the club, and I thought 'maybe it's because she didn't know anyone else there', but she just kept glancing at me the whole time and—why are you laughing?! Clarissa Fray this is not a joke! STOP LAUGHING!"_

Clary couldn't help herself. She put the straightener on the edge of the sink and cackled high and loud, tossing a few snorts here and there in the mix. She clutched one arm around her stomach and held onto the edge of the sink for support.

"Oh, geez," she snorted, gasping for air. "You're so damn clueless. You poor boy."

"_Please tell me what's so funny, you ingrate," _Simon said dryly on the other end.

"Simon – she was hitting on you," she clarified, clearing her throat once her snorts had disappeared. She picked up the straightener and resumed her fight for dominance with her mop.

"…_But it's me."_

"So?"

"…_But it's __**me**__."_

"Putting emphasis on the 'me' doesn't change the sentence at all, Si."

"_Clary – it's __**me**__. **M-E.**"_

"Why hello Me, could you put Simon back on the phone please?"

"_What the—oh for crying out loud, woman stop confusing me with your sarcasm."_

"Why? It's entertaining." Clary tilted her head forward as she reached for the base of her scalp and pulled another lock of hair that needed taming. "Look, Simon. Don't think less of yourself buddy. Just because you don't necessarily get the cherry on top, don't think you can't land someone worthwhile. Besides, she wouldn't take her eyes off you the whole night."

"…_Really?_"

"Mm-hmm. And she was quite taken with you back at Java. Besides, you have nice hair, you're tall and you shower, so you beat over nine-tenths of the male population in the whole of America."

"_So I have a one in ten chance of getting together with a beautiful, striking, badass, reincarnated Amazon warrior? Somehow, those odds aren't in my favour."_

"Shut up, Si,' Clary chastised. "What about the morning after? What was the farewell like?"

"_Breakfast, __swapped digits, and I gave her a hug."_

Clary facial dropped. "Oh no… Simon, you didn't."

"_Didn't what?"_

"Were you the one that initiated the hug?"

"…_yeah. I was being a gentleman to her though. Isn't that what girls are after?_"

Clary propped one arm against the bench and looked mournfully at the phone. "Simon, Simon, _Simon. _You do not do that to a woman after she gives you the sexy eyes. That gives way to two outcomes; one, she starts getting hopeful about the idea of you two getting together in the nearby future. The second is that, for a woman like Isabelle, she will be left not only wondering why on earth you didn't drop down on your knees to worship her – of course I can't blame her though, but still, she'll start thinking that something's wrong with her and it'll mess her up on a mental level. Especially after you guys have just swapped numbers with one another."

"_Is that how the female mind works?_" Simon said with an intrigued air about him. "_You guys think way too deep about our actions._"

"If I was there right now, I would honestly slap you in the face."

The bespectacled boy sighed heavily on the other end, and she could hear him rustling about in their apartment. It was just after twelve, and the guy had an assignment to hand in to his faculty at the university. "_I don't know, Clary. I kinda want to see her again, but… I don't know. You know how my past relationships are."_

"You've had past relationships? Simon, how dare you keep secrets from me."

"_Woman, I've had no past relationships and you know that. What if she was just doing the sexy eyes out of pity to make me feel better?_"

"Oh shut up, Si," the redhead repeated. Her phone started blinking and the image of the battery life flared up on her home screen. The redhead huffed and reached down to take the phone into her hands. "I gotta go, my phone's dying. But just think about this though – do you want to go further with her or do you like things as they are now? Just let it mull in that big brain of yours, and then go see her. Just make it clear to her whether or not she's in the potential pool or friend-zone, otherwise you're in for one hell of an awkward relationship, be it intimate or not."

"_Sure thing, Clary. Thanks for listening. See you in a few days, freak._"

"Don't break anything, nitwit."

The phone call ended, and Clary turned her phone off to save what little battery life she had left on her device. She looked back at the mirror and finished taming her hair. The curls disappeared, and she was left looking at a completely different person. Her face was covered with the bare minimum amount of make-up, but it was enough to make her skin look healthy and her eyes more vibrant. Her jeans and baggy hoodies had been traded for skin-tight dark trousers, and an olive blouse with a brown belt wrapped around her waist. Overall impression of the outfit: a short, woodland elf.

The redhead picked up her belongings and carried them out of the bathroom, where she entered the adjoining bedroom and stowed away her belongings in the big bag she had. She fluffed her hair over her shoulders and padded barefoot across the carpet into the living room. Jonathan was at the table, with a glass in hand, going over the blueprint she had provided with their guest from the Fae Court.

"You took a while in there, sis," Jonathan noted, swirling the drink in his glass.

"If you had a mop like mine, then you would realise how a large amount of effort is needed to control these curls," Clary stated bluntly, pulling her hair back into a high ponytail.

Kaelie looked over her shoulder as Clary came towards them, gazing down at the Morgenstern girl with cool intent. "Miss Morgenstern."

Clary fought the cringe that threatened to come across her face. Every time she heard someone address her as 'Miss Morgenstern', it brought to mind images of her as some preppy, spoilt, privileged brat living it up in the Hamptons and attending Ivy League colleges. "Just Clarissa will be fine," Clary corrected.

The white-blonde nodded and turned her sights back onto the blueprint. Her laptop was set up to the side, where she had numerous notes archived on her device.

"What time is your appointment, Clarissa?" Jonathan asked.

"Two. I'm going over the finer details of the contract with Lily, and I'll be given a tour of the areas that are open to me. I'll be setting up my things in one of the rooms for the portrait." The last few days, Clary had spent going back and forth between apartments, gathering the necessities from her place, and hitting up the exhibition venue she worked part-time for a spare blank canvas for her work. Even though this might just be some 'mission' in the eyes of the Morgenstern's, she still wanted to take advantage of the experience.

"Do you have to bring in your own equipment?" the male asked curiously. "I would've thought the Viper would provided the resources for you."

"I told them I would bring my own things," Clary replied, moving around the table by her brother, staying shy a few inches away from him. "I've already broken in my own paintbrushes, and I have some really good paint that I haven't used in a long time. I let him go get my stuff, and his underlings will probably go out and buy the cheap crap that melts off the canvas."

"I take it you are an artist by day?" Kaelie asked calmly.

The redhead brushed her fingertips across the design plans smoothed out in front of them. "More or less," Clary said. She didn't want to give away too much about her 'mundane' life, as her brother loved to call it. She didn't want people in the criminal world to know too much about her status in the real world. "Besides, it'll give me an excuse to bring some of our stuff that we need to accomplish this mission." She braced both arms against the table top and peered over at the member of Fae Court. "You have something for me?"

"Yes." While the woman sashayed back to the breakfast bar to pick up a small box, Clary took note of how professional the woman's outfit was, as if handpicked off the cover of a fashion catalogue for top ten most powerful females in the world. She wore a long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater-dress the color of pale pink roses matched with a white blazer, with her long hair falling down her back like a shimmering curtain of pale gold starlight. Her heels were just as impressive; cream pumps that added a further four inches to a height that Clary could only ever dream of achieving. _Damn genetics_, she thought viciously. She appreciated her looks nonetheless, but she wished she could have more height to pull off the more risque outfits.

Kaelie returned with the case and placed it promptly on the table. The case was simple enough, the size of on over-sized make-up case with a silver metal exterior. She opened it up and slid it over to Clary to view. "The phone is a dummy mobile," she said, "and it has a virus ready for download. Place it beside a near-by computer for one minute, and I'll be able to clone all the information. That'll give me the ability to hack it outside of the venue from an external source."

"Sounds like the kind of stuff you see on spy movies," Clary murmured, taking the phone out of the box.

"Do you believe you have a chance of getting it close by a computer of some sort?" Kaelie inquired politely.

The redhead tossed the phone up in the air and watched it twirl about. "Absolutely. Raphael's second-in-command is very thorough in her job and ensures that all electronic devices are stashed away with the security guys. Very meticulous, that woman."

"Once that's done, Miss Whitewillow will be able to get us access to the security footage, and we'll be able to see where our precious cargo is being held in the building." Jonathan gulped the contents of his glass down his throat and coughed lightly. He fixated the young woman with a calm, reassuring smile. "We appreciate the help here, Miss Whitewillow."

The blonde woman nodded at the man and closed the lid to her laptop. She checked her watch wrapped around her delicate wrist and looked at the siblings. "I have some matters to attend to for my boss. Is there anything else you two need before I return later on with the results from the operation?"

"We can manage," Jonathan said. "I'll have something prepared for you when you come back."

"Oh that's not necessary," the blonde said, her face getting slightly flustered at Jonathan's offer.

"Nonsense," Jonathan said with a wry grin. "Besides, if you're going to be visiting us more often, we might as well make sure you have your strength about you. Don't want you wasting away while we take advantage of your talents."

The younger Morgenstern offspring watched as her older brother escorted the woman out of the room, and bid her farewell as she sashayed her way out of the apartment. The young man turned around once he shut the door with a cool look on his face. "That was lovely."

Clary rolled her eyes. "You're a terrible flirt," she said unashamedly, walking over to the breakfast bar. Her charger was on the bench and she marched swiftly over there to plug it into her phone and into the socket.

"I know. It's a natural talent of mine." The silver-blonde pulled out his I-pad from the bag on the table and slid it over between them. "Well done for keeping your attitude in check, though."

The redhead rolled her eyes and ignored her brother's jab at her behaviour. It never once said in the job description that she had to like the woman. "Once we get control of the system, we're gonna have to figure a way to get into the vault," Clary voiced aloud. "I don't know how we're going to get ahold of any transactions to see what kind of vault he has—"

"It won't be an electronic one," Jonathan said confidently over the top of her voice. "Raphael wouldn't use any electronics to keep his goods safe."

"What makes you say that?"

Jonathan leaned over the bench and tilted Clary's chin up to meet his eyes. He wore a calm, leisurely expression - something that Clary rarely saw gracing his handsome features. Arrogance and silent fury were the more dominant emotions, with a bit of cynicism and irritation tossed into the mix. "Call it intuition."

The redhead rolled her eyes and jerked away from her brother's touch. It would take them a good half hour to get to the other side of the city where Raphael dwelt, so they had plenty of time to strategise the next step in their plan.

"Clarissa?" The redhead frowned absentmindedly as she listened to the older blonde. "Your decision the other night regarding Mortmain…"

Clary huffed. "What, were you expecting more bloodshed? A decapitated head set on a plate?"

"Don't play coy here, sister," Jonathan spoke dryly. "I'm wondering though if that was the best choice. Granted the pro's of that plan were greater than the con's, I still think it would have been better to put him in custody of our own people—"

"I disagree." Clary sat up straighter and looked at her brother as he bowed his head, his eyes scanning the files he had on the screen of his I-pad. "I stand by what we chose that night."

"At least we would've had control over that damn pig-headed buffoon."

"You might enjoy all the dysfunctional chaos, but I highly doubt father will appreciate all the competition swarming outside our front door, especially with the auction coming up at the end of next month."

The tension in the air grew thicker between them, and Clary bit down on her tongue for her thoughtlessness. Her brother's hand hovered over the I-pad, frozen in the air.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Geez, please don't hurt me, please don't call Dad…_

"I'm going to ignore that last statement," Jonathan said. His tone was light and deceptively calm, like the still surface of quicksand. The redhead nodded vigorously. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _"All of that aside, aren't you fearful that he might give something away?"

"He swore on his company that he wouldn't say anything about dad," Clary emphasised hotheadedly. "Besides, he not so stupid that he would turn on one of the strongest gangs in America. The redhead was growing tired of her brother's ominous replies. She hated it when her brother answered her with veiled responses that were unclear. She just wanted him to get to the point, not toy around while playing the guessing game. Clarissa stood up and took her phone and charger with her as she headed into her temporary home. "I'm gonna get my gears ready in the room. Call out if you need me."

Clary moved so fast out of that room, that she didn't even hear her brother's words whisper through the air.

"That's not the only thing he knows though."

.

.

"Miss Fairchild, a pleasure to see you again."

Clary was escorted into the building by two burly men, tall of stature and imposing in their own rights. She hauled the large canvas through the door and had a bag full of blank notepads and pencils hanging off her shoulder. Raphael's right-hand stood at the entry, wearing a thin-lipped smile as she watched the redhead pile in.

"Likewise," Clary huffed, blowing a curl off her face. _So much for good appearances. _"Where's the best place to put this?" she said whilst indicating her canvas board.

"Marshall, can you take it up to the study please?" the woman ordered. One of the guards at the door nodded and took it out of Clary's hands, relieving her of the stress. Her brother, being ever so cautious, had dropped her two blocks away from the complex, which left her having to carry her equipment in the hot afternoon sun. If she'd known that, she would've caught a taxi instead and made them park up closer to the building.

"Thanks for that," Clary said appreciatively.

Lily was a intimidating, standing a little ways from Clary with an I-pad in hand. Her attire was formal casual, a mix of leather and lace tossed in. Her blouse was a shade of bold red lace, paired up with red leather high-waister pants and heavy doc martin boots. Clary knew that she herself could be frightening, but there was something about the goth-like asian that made her want to bow down to her dominating aura surrounding her.

_She's definitely got the top-bitch aura about her,_ Clary observed. Lily reminded her of a girl that was ahead of her back at school. You had all the cliches, the jocks and nerds and whatnot. If anything, Lily was the head girl that everyone both loved and feared. She had the looks that would've made all the cheerleaders envious, but she also had a fresh attitude that made you respect her. She held a lot of power as Raphael's second-in-command, but she didn't try to abuse it, nor did she try to commit underhanded attempts to gain more power from her boss. _Definitely top-bitch girl,_ Clary decided firmly.

"Before we go any further, I'm going to have to get you to go through the usual drill," Lily said. "Electronics need to be handed over to the guards, as always."

"Of course," Clary said happily. "Happy to comply with whatever you guys need me to do." She dropped her bag briefly on the ground and rummaged about for the phone. The sleek black device went into a tray accompanied by her I-pod, and watched the tray being carried off to the security room.

Lily nodded with affirmation. "Let's get you settled then."

Clary moved up and walked beside the raven-haired woman and listened as she went over the protocol's for their contract. She pointed out which rooms were open to her, which floor's were unaccessible; she glossed over the terms of their contract and the days that she had agreed to come and paint. Lily asked her what sort of media she planned to use, and Clary was straight up with her answers. All the while, Clary silently took note of all the corridors, taking in both the antiques scattered about and the number of people that paced up and down the corridors and stairwell. There were a variety of people moving throughout the building, from well-dressed individuals, to teenagers that were sloppy in their attire but nevertheless walking with a purpose.

_Thing's will be harder to get done with all these witnesses walking about,_ Clary observed sullenly. If they wanted to get the artefact for Fae Court, the numbers needed to dwindle down in order for them to more clandestine. There were a lot of windows on the floors, so they had several choics for point of entry into the building.

"The upper levels are for personal use, so please refrain from going up their if you can," Lily warned. "We have a lot of people flitting in and out of the building, so it wouldn't be wise for you to go up there to twiddle about."

"Sure thing," Clary said honestly. "I'll stay away from there."

"Good," Lily said. As they carried on down an open corridor, the tall woman turned about to face Clary and fixed her with a curious gaze. "If you don't mind, I'm fascinated to learn how it is you came by our establishment, and the offer that was put out."

"Big social circle," Clary bluffed. "You start hearing things from other media students about any opportunities, and you just go for them, no matter what kind they are. If you can get your name out there in the public, then that's one advantage you have over the rest of the competition."

Lily pursed her lips and arched one eyebrow, highlighting the winged eyeliner that heightened the slant of her eyes. "Curious," she mumbled. Her eyes looked down at her feet and a wry smile made it's way onto her face. "Nice shoes."

The redhead looked down at her feet and smirked. She had the red timberland boots on from the other night, and they fitted her perfectly. Despite it being such a loud statement in comparison to her outfit, Clary wasn't worried about that. She didn't care much for materialistic things like clothes, jewellery, and fancy laptops and the likes.

"Easier to walk about in," Clary replied with a smile.

Lily had a quirky smile on as she ushered her into the room. "This is the site where you will be painting. Raphael has asked explicitly that he be painted her and nowhere else."

"That's fine," Clary said knowingly, plopping her bag down on the coffee-table. The study was eclectic, with a variety of things; there were shelves full of encyclopedias on who knows what, and numerous objects spread out in the room. A wall gave way to a picturesque window seat, complete with dark, velvet furnishings and an array of matching pillows and books. The view was interesting, overseeing the road and several other buildings in the neighbourhood.

Ideas were already flooding through her mind as Clary thought of countless poses to do for her work. Would she want the sunlight streaming in on his face, or have the moonlight bathe him in silver? By the window seat, or standing by the bookshelf? Sitting or standing? Smiling or talking?

"If you'll just sign here, then your contract between you and our boss will be legitimate." Lily pressed the I-pad in Clary's view and handed her an electronic pen for her to scribble her signature across the screen, shattering her reverie. The redhead held it up gingerly in her hands and scrawled her name across the screen. "Perfect."

Lily retrieved the I-pad and pen from Clary and held her hand out to the redhead. "Congratulations, Miss Fairchild. You've got yourself a client."

* * *

.

**OML we've hit over 27,000 views! That's so much more than I would've anticipated in my short life. Thank you all so much for giving me feedback and for pushing me along with this fiction. I'm so sorry for the big wait, but you know how it goes when you get the writer's block. Not to mention the Uni life #struggleisreal.**

**Thank you to all my new people who've favorited and have added me to their alerts; means so much. Thank you so much for the reviews, can't tell you how much I love getting everyone's feedback - especially when they're all telling me to 'HURRY UP AND GET TO THE NEXT CHAPTER! WE'RE DYING HERE!'.**

**Best of luck to everyone in the game of fanfiction, and I will update my other Clace story soon.**

**~Violentkitsune**


	30. Chapter 30: Duties and Dates

**First off I'd like to apologise for the extremely, LLLLLOOONNNNGGGG wait that you guys have been ****suffering from. I didn't mean to put you all in agonising anticipation for my story. So, so ,so soooooorrrryyy.**

**While I'm at it, I might as well let you all know why the long wait. Last few month's I was going through a bit of a tough time at the university I attend here in my hometown and things were getting quite a bit hectic and... dare I say - DEPRESSING. Things get quite morbid when you realise how life-changing exams are, and I can tell you this with absolutely certainty:**

**Tears _will be shed_ over exams.**

**However, now i'm on my way to recovering from first-year shock of my university experience, so yay me. **

**For those of you who are thinking about attending tertiary education, I wish you the best of the best. Study hard like your life depends on it, and for goodness sake go to classes. Don't be a cool kid and ditch, or else you won't be able to make friends anyways. Do what I do and find one friend in each class you have so that you don't feel like a loner. **

**Now back to the main topic at hand...**

**Between looking for a job and figuring out what I will do for the future (since I'm not planning on going back to uni straight away after this year's fiasco) I will try to resurrect all my stories - or at least the ones that are the most appealing to you guys. I've got this, my greek au Clace, and my Zutara Mermaid fic that I shall be working on. **

**I'll _TRY_ to be as consistent that I was when i first started, but it'll all depend on how well my brain is working. **

**THANK YOU to all those people who sent me those positive messages to get back on this story. And no, I will not ditch this fanfic because this is actually one of the best things that I've written that I actually _like._ **

**I apologise for any incorrect grammar or spelling in here, or if it seems like there are words missing in a sentence.**

**In the meantime... _I'M BACK SUCKA'S! _**

* * *

**30: Duties and Dates**

"Lyston…Martell… Maestrom…Morgenstern, come to daddy."

Jace pulled out the large binder out of the silver cabinet, his eyes widening at the amount of files stacked within the plastic sleeves. For the past few days, he'd been juggling a great deal of things; all candidates who made it through the trials were scheduled to have an interview with a small committee who headed the elite taskforce, to confirm whether they had what it takes to be on their squad. He'd been put on guard detail when Mortmain was taken to the courthouse for a private hearing, where he was to stand-by for a public trial. Jace doubted that they would be able to get him near a prison. Mortmain had money and power and it was only a matter of time before word got back to his people in Britain of his current situation.

And then there was the Morgenstern case. Between patrolling hours, Jace had spent a lot of time looking up the history of Valentine. Public articles listed the history of his empire, dating back to the man who started it all, Roderick Morgenstern. He happened upon a few interesting facts about the man, such as the boarding school he attended, and the numerous positions and clubs he'd occupied. He was even awarded service award to the school and reigned as the state champion for fencing. However, everything he found online was useless, since he could only find reports on crimes that were suspected to be the doing of Valentine. There were no personal details that suggested Valentine had even married, let alone hooked up at all.

And that was why Jace snuck up on the third floor.

All the files regarding big-time criminals or closed cases were archived in The Library, on the third floor where all the seasoned detectives resided. These guys were extremely territorial when it came to visitors, and to top it off all rookies from last years' graduates were banned from the third floor.

He couldn't blame them though. While training at the academy, he and numerous rookie officers snuck up and gave the entire office a facelift, moving everything one inch to the left and sticking stink bombs under the handles of their drawers. Punishment resulted in boot camp out in the bush, but it was worth it.

Jace turned around the corner from the library, locking the cabinet behind him. He sidled down the hallway, where the only thing separating him from all the senior officers were bulletproof glass windows covered printouts and markers. He wouldn't mind 'chatting away' with the big dogs, but if he ever wanted to have good work relationship with those guys, it's best if he kept his sarcastic comments to himself.

Jace made his way back to his floor and flopped down on the chair at his desk, thumping the binder on the wood with a resounding slap.

"What's with the brick?" Alec called from his desk behind him.

"I'm digging into Mortmain's claim," Jace explained. "I couldn't find anything on Valentine himself, so I'm widening my search."

"Couldn't you find anything on the existing database?" His brother asked.

"Nothing except gossip columns and the likes. These are all the known records we have on the Morgenstern Empire; trials, witness statements, testimonials, gangs working under the big bad wolf."

Alec looked away from his monitor and spun to face the blonde. He watched Jace flip through the folder, pulling out items of interest and investigating the information they had on them. "Jace…"

"Mm-hmm?"

Alec shook his head and raked his fingers behind his ear. "Don't you think we should've told Penhallow about what Mortmain said? About Valentine's heirs?" They'd been watching the footage of the interrogation with the Englishman, and not once did he mention anything about Valentine's children. He kept their little conversation to himself, and every time he looked up at the camera a slow smile would crawl across his face.

The blonde officer waved his hand lazily and continued skimming through the folder. "Just wait a while before we tell her, alright?"

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because," Jace huffed, "For one thing, if we just go in there empty handed and it turns out to be a big hoax, we're going to become the laughing stock of the precinct."

"Fair enough. But eventually we've got to start telling the big guys about this, especially with that CIA guy snooping around. Last thing we want is for them to ban us from the case at such a critical time."

"I'm not dumb, Alec."

"Never said you were, Barbie doll."

"Well then stop with the reminders, okay?" Jace scoured through the files, flipping through to the more recent additions to the folder. "It's getting on my nerves, your highness."

"Someone has to give the reminders around here, otherwise you'll go ahead and do your own thing without clueing us in." Alec swung back in his seat and resumed his own work while Jace continued doing his own thing. "You don't think things through."

"Yes I do. Now shush."

"Jac—"

"Hushhhh-" He whispered sticking a finger in front of his older brother's face. "I need absolute silence from you."

Jace ignored Alec's incessant pestering and devoted all his attentions to the files at hand. The amount of information piled in front of him was enormous. The entire history of the interactions the government had with the Morgensterns' was listed in the file, from public arrests to interrogation reports with criminals serving under the big man himself. Surprisingly, there was even a list of the mob families that served under the Morgenstern Empire – or at least the ones circa 1980. Jace pulled out a big envelope and emptied out the contents, finding himself face to face with several photos of known criminals and their associates, including members of the Morgenstern heritage.

He picked up one photo and read the inscription on the back. _#M014 – Seraphina Morgenstern, 1965 arrest._ The photo was of a woman in her early twenties, cuffed at the wrists whilst staring at the camera with blank, unseeing eyes. She had a youthful glow about her, but it was muted by the harshness of her gaze. The photo was printed in black in white, so Jace couldn't tell much except that she was blonde and pretty.

_Moving on. _He pulled out a number of papers detailing a call log to a number of people who were on a watchlist for the Morgenstern case. The calls were over a decade old, but even so he wasn't going to let anything go to waste. Over a thousand calls had been made to different phones throughout the state of New York. Fortunately, someone – an analyst by the looks of it, had already gone through the list and highlighted key names that frequented the list the most. His eyes going straight to the highlighted names:

_\- 5710 L. Graymark_

_\- 3424 J. Fairchild _

_\- 2097 M. Dieudonne_

_\- 1925 A. Pangborn_

_\- 3424 J. Fairchild_

_\- 3424 J. Fairchild_

_\- 2097 M. Dieudonne_

_\- 6812 L. Zyael_

Jace took the phone log and switched over to the computer monitor in the corner of his desk. The screen lit up as he logged in to the public archives via police links, and typed in the first name on his list in the citizen registry. Whoever piled all the information together had made his workload a whole lot easier with their notes from previous cases. He got a hit from the old archives and scanned through the old information at hand.

_Lucian Graymark_

_D.O.B: 1969, November 7_

_Status: Married_

_Spouse: Jocelyn Fairchild_

_Criminal record: 3 Speeding tickets; Noise Control complaints_

_Current Address: Hudson Valley_

"Jonathan Herondale."

The blonde stiffened and spun around in his feet. Detective Whitelaw stood at the head of the juncture separating into his and Alec's desks. Her face was suspicious as she eyed up all the papers spread across Jace's desks.

Jace had never met the woman in person, since she had a higher status in the employment pyramid within the police force, but he'd heard stories about the Whitelaw family. Like the Lightwoods, her family had served for the New York justice department for several generations, and she was quite the legacy around here. Her bravery did not go un-noticed; she and her husband had led a raid to save a large family down in Harlem who were held hostage by members of Valentine's empire against the previous commissioner's orders. Despite risking her badge at the time, she went in with what she could and rescued an entire family.

Jace was a little awe-struck that he didn't notice that her repeating the call for him several times. "Detective Whitelaw," He said, closing the file on his desk. _Dammit. I didn't get to finish it off. _ "Do you need me?"

She looked him up and down. "You're Stephen's boy, right?"

The blonde winced slightly in shock. It was the first time in years that he'd heard his father's name being uttered aloud through the air. From what he remembered, and what his adopted parents had told him, his dad had attended the same school with a number of people working here at the Institute, hence the family atmosphere. "Yes ma'am."

"Where's your uniform, boy?"

Jace checked out his outfit, from the long-sleeve black shirt to the black pants and boots. He wasn't officially on duty today, so why would he need to be dressed. "Not here. I just came in today to do some—"

"Save it." She huffed and motioned for him to stand up. "Five minutes to clean yourself and make yourself presentable. Then I want you to come down to the conference room. Your interview has been moved up to today, I'm afraid."

The woman strode off in the opposite direction, leaving Jace stranded with no clue what was going on. His interview was on today? As in the interview that would determine his career path was on _today?_ What could possibly have caused the guys up top to move his interview to today of all days? He wasn't even mentally prepared for the interview, let alone physically prepared. His interview was supposed to be on next week.

_What could possibly have made them speed things up?_

"Here." Alec shuffled about the things on his desk and emerged with the key to his locker. "There's a spare uniform shirt in my locker. Hurry up and go get that on before you meet up with Whitelaw."

Jace took the key out of the palm of Alec's hand and nodded. "I owe you one."

He made to get going down to the locker rooms, but looked back at Alec. The dark-haired policeman only had one report to fill out and then he was done for the day.

_Might as well take advantage of his free time. _He looked over at his brother with an impish grin and proceeded to dump his work on his desks. Alec furrowed his eyebrows but continued to sort out through his own problems while Jace stacked up all papers with the phone history recorded on them.

"What are you doing?" Alec asked evenly as he filled out his report. "You realize I have my own paperwork to attend to, right?"

"While I'm gone, I need you to go through these notes and send me a summary of these findings." He clapped his brother on the back with a grim smile on face. "I think with these notes we might stand a chance of finding Valentine's spawn and bringing down his empire for good."

* * *

.

Vivaldi wafted through the air, the high-strung notes of a string quartet dancing on the airwaves. An older woman gently held a crystal wineglass between her fingertips while she hummed along to the notes being played through the speakers. The office had changed since her last visit. His bookshelves had been rearranged, and the furniture was pushed away from the window into the corners – a strategic move on her companion's part no less. The air was heavy with the scent of whiskey and something stronger, a fragrance reminiscent of a meadow after a heavy storm.

The woman was tall, with a slim build and dark mahogany hair that had been pulled tight in a bun. Her suit was fitting but appropriate for formal occasions, nothing too distracting on the eyes apart from the thick emerald stone dangling at the base of her throat. The slacks were loose but comforting, and her blazer was simple yet refined. Her face, however, was another matter entirely. There was a cold beauty about her, something so sinister yet so enticing that drew people to her.

She moved about and paused before a single photo framed with a simple black photo frame. In the picture it showcased a couple, two people in the latter years of their youth poised with elegance whilst dancing away across the floor. To the unknown, they looked like a normal couple attending a ball together. Both were dressed elegantly for the occasion, dominating the center of the ballroom. But the woman knew better.

She eyed up the brother and sister duo, wincing at the redhead in the photo. She was a damn clone of her mother, from the face down to that limp personality of hers. The girl shared very few characteristics with her father, and neither her talent nor bloodlust made up for the gap in her genetics.

_Dunce._

The first time she'd met Valentine's only daughter, her expectations of this girl came crashing down. Her brother had been a prodigy under her tutelage, flourishing as the years passed like an unblemished diamond in the rough, so it was fair of her to think the girl would share some of his talents. Instead she was given a girl with none of her father's merciless tactics or her brother's evolutionary learning style.

She eyed up the pale blonde young man in the photo and sighed. Her mind become overpowered by the earliest memory where her path was reunited with the Morgenstern's in an unexpected way.

_In the late evening she drove her silver Honda Civic up the driveway, spiraling around the fountain outside the front door to her home. The grounds were fairly large, as expected from a woman from such a highly-esteemed family. She parked the car up and let the engine die down. Her body was exhausted from walking throughout her company's building, and her neck was stiff with kinks in the muscle tissue. She'd just finished renegotiating the contracts with the small-time biochemical company this morning, and all she wanted now was a long bubble bath with steak on the side. _

"_Make that a whole cow," she muttered._

_Lilith loosened up the tie around her neck and strode over to the steps of her home. She pushed gently on the door for support while she reached into her bag to pull out to the key to the house._

_Her suspicions were aroused when the door swung open wide with ease. She searched her mind for a reason for someone to be here at this hour, and came up with no answer._

_There's someone who shouldn't be here, she thought hungrily._

_Lilith silently kicked off her heels and closed the door behind her. The items in the hallway were left untouched. However music played softly through the air._

_She headed over to the coatroom on her left and delved deep into the back of the confined space. At the back was a false panel, hiding a gun that she kept loaded with a few extra cartridges on the side. Her combat skills were so-so, but she had one hell of an aim when it came to firearms. Especially within close-range. _

_The woman tiptoed down the hallway, letting her senses range out to hear for the location of the foreign visitor. The lamplights were on inside the parlor and she rounded the corner with her gun held at head-height._

_A pale blonde figure sat on the armchair before her, the back of the seat facing her whilst looking towards the fireplace. The man in the chair was slightly rugged in appearance but otherwise till maintain a dominant air of superiority._

_Lilith pulled down her gun in surprise at the man in the chair. "Valentine?"_

_The man seemed to have been nodding off to sleep but awoke with a start. He rubbed his eyes and craned his neck to face the lady of the house. "Lilith," he said with a yawn. "I was wondering when you were going to be home."_

_Her chest swelled with a flurry of emotions she had not felt for a long time._

"_Forgive the intrusion, Lilith," he said tiredly. His face was ghostly and she could see that he'd been eating poorly lately. "I should've rung ahead of time."_

_She shook herself out of her reverie. "Yes, you should have," she said with a sigh. A growing smirk decorated her face while she waved her gun at him. "Could've shot you, y'know?"_

"_You can try," he teased. "We may be older, but I can still dodge those pitches of yours."_

_Lilith emptied the gun and stowed it away in one of her many hidey-holes along the shelves in her room. "What brings you to my home, Val?"_

_He shook himself and stood up off the chair. He moved closer to the roaring fire that had been set up earlier and leaned against the brick wall. "It's over," he stated in a pensive tone. "Jocelyn and I… we are no longer together."_

_The brunette tilted her woman in mock surprise. It took longer than expected, but he was finally released from that imprisonment he called marriage to that redhead dolt. "Should I be sorry? Because frankly this is a cause for celebration."_

"_Please, Lilith. Just because she didn't meet your expectations—"_

"_She halted your growth, Val," Lilith interrupted. Her gaze grew hard as steel as she reached the glass cabinet on the wall. A few bottles and some glass cups were stacked neatly away for night-caps, and given the man's immediate condition she reckon he was in need of a few cups. "And I'm sorry, but your marriage with that woman never brought any value to your position in your father's Empire. She was a pretty face and an intelligent mind but she contributed nothing to your power. I mean look at you, now."_

_The silver-blonde raised his head slightly as the brunette ambled her way over with a bottle in hand. A saddened smile pulled the corners of his mouth. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"_

"_A harsh answer is better than a sugar-coated one." Lilith rushed the strays back and gazed at him. "Since when have you become so soft?"_

"_Since I became a father."_

_Lilith placed the glasses and bottle down on the coffee table in front of the velvet chaise and dropped down on the furniture with her legs crossed over the other. "Does this mean you'll resume the family work again?"_

_Valentine gazed through thin slits, his eyes flashing brilliantly like hardened coal. He had a strong presence about him, as if his shadows were home to demons from below. "Absolutely," he said with a calm composure. "However, there is one…. favor, that I require from you… one friend to another."_

_The woman straightened up on her seat and sent the man a sharp look. "I am at your call, Val," she said fondly. "If it is within my power, I will do whatever you need."_

_He held up one palm warily. "You remember the day when I found out my wife was pregnant with my firstborn? And I called you up a few weeks after the scan?"_

"_Of course," she huffed. "Jonathan Morgenstern, first of his name and quite the little devil too, might I add. Much to your ex-wife's dismay, you named me the boy's godmother." Her eyes widened as a thought took over her mind. "Wait a moment – are you asking me—"_

"_Heavens, no, I wouldn't dream of forcing him upon you," Valentine intervened, interpreting her train of thoughts and translating it back to something much more manageable. "The boy will be living with me in the city, that Jocelyn and I have agreed upon. However, this is a bit more… personal to say the least."_

"_Well – spill it already, Morgenstern. Don't beat around the bush with this vague speech of yours."_

"_Since I will resume my duties in the empire, I will need someone to train my son in the ways of our world. He will need someone who is influential in both the streets of New York and the underbelly of this city. I can handle the political side, but he needs to learn the fundamental principles our life is founded about. If he is to succeed me, he needs to develop a talent for dealing with blood money. Not to mention he'll need to learn how to throw a punch or two."_

"…_And you want me to raise the boy. Am I hearing right?"_

_His face was devoid of any sarcasm or humor. "Absolutely."_

_Lilith was stunned. She wanted him to play teacher with his child? Didn't he know how hectic her schedule was, or her horrible experiences with children? "Val, you know how much kids 'adore' me—"_

"_Don't worry, _

_She arched one eyebrow over her eyes and stared skeptically at Valentine. "Don't worry?"_

_He shrugged and leaned back comfortably in the chair. The fireplace continued to roar with amber flames, turning his hair to a faint shade of gold in its fiery glow. "My son already has a taste for blood," he announced. "A lot like me when I was younger. You'll like him, Lilith."_

Lilith looked at the photo and pulled her lips up into a slight snarl at the redhead. The girl didn't belong here in this world. She wasn't fit to take part in this empire her family had built from blood, sweat, and bullets. Her bother was perfect, a beautiful being with both charisma and the talent to survive in this world. Jonathan was the perfect student, the best she'd ever had in this secret world of hers.

"Complete and utter waste of flesh and blood," she muttered, aiming her malicious comments at the redhead brat.

"Be nice Lilith. Surely I'm not that much of a burden on your life."

The woman – Lilith as she was called, turned to the door and watched both longtime friend and employer close the door behind him. He strode over purposefully and gracefully reached down to kiss the back of her hand. Such was the tradition of all Morgenstern men, to treat any girl or woman like a proper lady regardless of her social standing.

"You, I like," she announced with charming smirk on her face, reaching up to stroke the light stubble on his jaw. She jerked her thumb back at the photo. "What you see in that genetic failure is beyond my understanding."

"Lilith," the pale-blonde man chastised. "Be nice. Your favorite student wouldn't like to hear such words about his sister. And I won't condone such behavior about my daughter."

She surrendered her hands and shook her head. "My apologies, Val. But you know how I am."

Valentine rolled his eyes at her nickname for him. Lilith was the only one who dared to shorten his given name, and the only one who was allowed to continue calling him by that. Not even his ex-wife had permission to do so.

Jocelyn Fairchild. Lilith tasted a bitter flavor as her thoughts turned to the Valentine's wife. She was his first love, his first everything, and she tossed him to the gutter the moment her fear took hold of her. She could never understand what Valentine found in that woman. Jocelyn had always been a weak girl in her eyes, unworthy of this man's attention. She shared nothing in common with this man, and yet he still pursued her like Peter Pan chasing after Neverland.

"So what's the social visit for, Lilith?" He asked off-handedly. He pulled out a leather binder from the shelf and rifled through its' contents. "We not due for a rendezvous until tomorrow evening."

"Well I came to give you an update on next month's auction." Lilith settled down in one of the armchairs provided for his clients and crossed her ankles. "I have a few things in there that I want to check on. Authenticity reasons, you know?"

"Of course."

"And then there's the little favor you asked me for." She dropped a USB drive on the coffee table in front of her and locked eyes with her comrade. "The man that defected from your services? All digital footprints leading him back to your company have been erased. The only problem we have left is getting rid of the hardcopies."

"That, we can afford to lose," the powerful man said. "I knew that man was a coward, but I still kept close watch on him even after I fired him from my services." Valentine cleared his throat. He pointed to the paper on the table in front of her. "Have you heard the news?"

"About who?"

"Mortmain." Lilith's eyes sparkled with interest and reached down to pick up the paper. She shook it and widened her gaze at the front page.

"'_Cuffed and Dumped on NYPD's Doorstep__: Drug Lord Mortmain to be tried and possibly sentenced indefinitely.' _My, my," she said flicking of the paper down, "What a busy city. First you die, and then Mortmain gets wrapped up like a Christmas present for the masses. The press must be having a field day with all these mysterious vigilante acts on us criminals. I thought he was one of your international contacts."

"He was," Valentine admitted. "Until a few nights ago when he tried to blackmail my son into given more than his dues for his services."

The brunette shook her head with a snide smirk on her face. "That boy Jonathan... he certainly has your charms and violent tenacity."

Valentine smirked slightly and returned to his desk. "He does. Doesn't he."

Lilith began to smile but frowned almost instantaneously as a puzzling thought crossed her mind. She looked back at the paper with new eyes and lower her eyelids in confusion. "If Mortmain was trying to blackmail you, the appropriate move in our line of work would be to kill the competition the moment he shows his true colors, regardless of the history or power they come with." She snapped her eyes up and looked accusingly at Valentine. "I taught your son this rule, and it's practically imbedded in his nervous system. So why would Mortmain still be drawing breath?"

"That is something that has been puzzling me as well," Valentine admitted. He slipped the folder back onto the shelf and leaned against the wooden frame. "When he called in to report this event, I questioned his motives. He was very vague about this, but from the sounds of it Clarissa was the one who made the call. He told me she made the choice to stop his people from across the world from raising up arms against us."

The brunette rolled her eyes and hissed at the word 'Clarissa'. "Your daughter is a dud," she hissed vehemently. "I tried to tell you that she wasn't worth investing your efforts in when she was younger. I tried to teach and discipline her, but she just doesn't share the same bloodlust. Granted she has a raw talent for gun control and can hold her own, but she just doesn't want to be here, Val."

"I know she doesn't want to be here." Valentine heaved a sigh and gazed heavily at the woman across from him. "Things are starting to pile up now that we're entering the final stages. Jonathan's prepping himself for his ascension, and my rebellious daughter is still too stubborn to let go of her mundane hobby."

The brunette flicked the strays off her head and waved dismissively at the man. "I told you—"

"I know Lilith," he snapped harshly. He groaned and pulled off his family's ring from his hand, twirling it around in his fingers. It was a habit that he had when he was frustrated, something to keep him calm instead of lashing out violently around his guests. "But the thing is that I want her to be here."

"Well why don't you just bring her by force?" Lilith said off-handedly. "You have no problem forcing everyone else into your services—"

"She's my blood," he interrupted. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. The years were beginning to show on him. Amongst the silver-blonde hair, Lilith could see faint strays of gray, blending in perfectly amongst the strands. His face showed the early signs of old age where he would transition from silver fox to crooked old man. Given a few more decades and he would soon be leaning on his own cane for support.

"She has to come of her own volition," he sighed. "So far she was doing alright at the start, but my son hasn't been making much headway in her decision. She's been more heavily involved in our plans, but her heart is still set on chasing after that… pathetic, unattainable dream of hers."

Lilith rolled her eyes and threw the paper down on the table. Yet another problem caused by his unworthy ex-wife. It wasn't enough she had to break this man's heart, no – she had to curse him with a disgrace of a daughter who had walked and talked just like Jocelyn.

A dark thought came into her mind, which sparked an even bigger chain of reactions. "Perhaps, what your redhead daughter needs - is a little push."

The gentleman and business partner raised his head slightly at her suggestion. "A push?"

Lilith's mind was flying with ideas – wicked ideas that would bring forth a mighty victory for her companion. "Consider this – your daughter wants this normal life of hers right? And to get this life she has to do a few favors here and there for you, correct?"

"Yes. What are you getting at, Lilith?"

She tapped the pads of her fingers together and smiled darkly. "Tell me – does she have a wide social circle? Or a few close confidantes that she turns to?"

"There was one boy that she keeps around from her childhood. She refers to him as her best friend. An intelligent but dull boy from what I remember. Otherwise, any other confidantes she has accumulated recently are only known by Jonathan. Your student's been shadowing her activities in that mundane world."

"What if there were a little accident?" she said innocently. "Perhaps a slip of the tongue to the wrong person about her lifestyle – nothing that will link directly back to you of course, but something that will cause them to turn away from her. Perhaps a little moonlighting on her… recent criminal activities?"

Valentine swallowed and tapped his fingers in a rapid staccato rhythm against the woodwork. "May I enquire as to how her friends found out about this scandal about her?"

"Her friends were targeted by lower-class criminals on an outing as an act of revenge. She killed a few of theirs and in return they're coming to pay back with interest."

"And in her attempt to save them she had to reveal a few of her special skills." The man leaned back in his chair and continued to tap against the wood, slowing down the pace of his tapping as his expression turned thoughtful. "Her spirit will be shattered."

"Her friends will reject her out of fear and leave her."

"Clarissa will lose her place in her dream world."

"And she will have no other choice but to come back to her father, docile and broken with the final thought that her father was right all along."

A slow smile broke out on Valentine's face as he reconsidered his companion's words. "You are wicked, aren't you?"

Lilith gestured to the whole of her body and cackled. "Valentine, darling," she said with a tease in her voice. She flourished her left hand in the air, brandishing a tattoo that was inked up on the inside of her wrist. "Don't you remember who I am? I'm the Matron of Demons after all. Consider this a gift for allowing me to help bring your boy up. Now if you don't mind, I have a few other errands to run. Me being a public figure and all."

Valentine stood up from his chair and moved away from the desk. He shook her hand and pulled it up to brush the back of her knuckles with a farewell kiss. "I'm fortunate to have a friend like you, Lilith."

"Likewise, Valentine." Lilith picked up her handbag and headed out towards the door. "Give my regards to my favorite student, will you?"

* * *

**I'm actually quite glad with this chapter, cause then it means i can do what I wanted for my original ending instead of what I was going to go with instead. **

**You know the usual stuff. Also, if you want me to check out anything of your's i'll be more than happy to comment. Otherwise, it's a free for all on this chapter.**


	31. Chapter 31: The Dating Game

**HAPPY NEW YEAR SUCKA'S!**

**What a year we've got ahead of us. Thank you to those who have been still with me from the start and those who've jumped on board. Whoo! what to do, what to do...**

**I promise to prepare a more extravagant speech at the end of the next chapter, guys.**

* * *

**31: The Dating Game**

_6.00 pm._

_I have thirty minutes._

_I can do this._

_Just one simple job. That's all you have to do._

"I give up! How, just how?! How do they do this?!"

Clary was close to crumpling down on the floor. After a few days of planning out how they were going to infiltrate and steal the item the Fae Court so desperately coveted, her brother was giving her a reprieve and letting her return back to her apartment for the night, before they go ahead and execute their plan. He was heading away for the night to go visit his godmother. Coincidently, his decision also lined up with her date with one hot blonde policeman – which saved her the trouble of having to make up some vague excuse and lie blatantly to her brother's face.

**_"Quick question," Clary whispered in the late hours of the evening on her phone. Her brother was in the bathroom and Clary had to keep her voice down in case he suddenly initiated his super-hearing and began interrogating her. "On a scale of take-out to red carpet, how fancy do I have to be for this dinner of ours?"_**

**_"You could wear anything and I still think you were the most beautiful being on the planet," her date wooed. Clary knew this line must have been used countless times, but for some reason it sounded more sincere coming from Jace. Probably because it had been a few years since she'd been in the dating game. Or maybe because his voice was simply heavenly and sinful at the same time. "A dress would be even better, but who am I to tell an independent woman what to and not to wear?"_**

**_"Smooth," she complimented. "I can see why you'd be so popular with the ladies. But c'mon now, I need to have something to go by."_**

**_"Okay, on your scale I'd say… formal casual, okay? And something warm for the New York nights."_**

Before coming back to her homestead, Clary quickly raced about in the office and ransacked the wardrobe that was stocked with expensive clothes that her brother kept on hold for her visits. She grabbed a few things without looking twice and rang up the nearest taxi as soon as her brother had left the building.

Now she was standing in her room gasping in surprise and horror at the things she'd brought back with her.

She didn't know exactly how wealthy her father was, but judging from the tags that were still on the dresses, and the make and material used to design them, she had a pretty good idea of the overall figure. The dresses practically screamed 'money money money'. One of them was a risqué sheath dress that had cut out patterns in around the ribs, exposing more skin than the other. Another dress was a pretty cream lace dress that covered her shoulders but barely reached mid-thigh, and made her skin look washed out.

And then there was the evening gown. She held up the long evening gown and shuddered in both admiration and shock; the material was soft, twin pieces of silk and chiffon dipped in shocking bright red that was shades brighter than her own locks. It had been styled into a long sheath dress with an embellished round neck and a slit riding all the way up to her thigh. At the back was a large gaping hole to put the shoulder blades on display for the whole world to see.

She dropped the dress back on the bed and stared at her own wardrobe. Her gears were simple things, versatile clothing. Her style was casual and workable, her clothes simple and easy to move in. It's not that she didn't know how to dress nicely – she had skirts and dresses in the wardrobe, and plenty of girly stuff floating around her room. But when she went out, she never worried too much about the exterior. But tonight she was dressing up _for _someone, someone that she _wanted _to please.

"Give me something, c'mon…" Her eyes caught something beneath the dress and she picked it up. It was a simple bag with a pair of shoes stowed away inside. She pulled out the shoes and eyed them up with wide eyes.

"Now this, I can work with." She searched around the room and picked up a few bits and pieces, holding up with the shoes to check if they matched. She didn't focus too much on her face – all she did was draw a winged eye-line and added more volume to her lashes. Plus a bit of dark water-proof lipstick. Fancy make-up was saved for some other time.

"I should document this moment," her roommate said childishly outside her door. "Proud daddy moment here."

_The irony._ Clary finally settled on something and darted into the bathroom to quickly change and spritz herself with perfume. If daddy Valentine had any inclination of what or who she was going out for dinner with, he'd throw her down in a van, take her to the nearest opposing gang territory and throw her to the proverbial lions for 'disciplinary lessons.'

Meanwhile Simon was upside down on the couch with his legs over the armrest and the guitar in his hands. He mumbled quietly to himself while he sorted out the hand positions for the chords he was looking at in a song. Since their performance at the Alto Bar, Changeling had gained more fans and the rest of the boys decided to use Simon as their secret weapon from now on, despite his complaints.

"Put a sock in it, Simon," the redhead called out from behind the door. "I'm nervous as heck and I don't need you rattling me even further."

"Oh, come on," he chortled. "You're not that scared are you? You've already bagged Herondale – why the need to go hard out for this anyways?"

Clary huffed and swung the door open partway so the brunette could see her face. "First off, I haven't 'bagged' him at all. Second, this is the official date. Everything else up to this point has just been a coincidence."

"Lies."

"Look, I actually _like_-like this guy, so forgive me for actually putting some effort into my look tonight."

Simon blew a raspberry at her and continued strumming on the guitar. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the mirror in the bathroom. A nice long charcoal grey knitted cardigan that tickled the back of her thighs, a plain but simple boysenberry pencil skirt ending below her knees, and finally a nice, elegant black chiffon blouse to cover up the rest of her torso. She held up the heels she'd taken out of the bag and bit lightly on the pad of her thumb.

The heels were striking… and dangerous. They were definitely statement shoes, designed to be on display for those special occasions. Clary eyed the gold overlay on the top of the black platform pumps, eying up the thick heel and t-strap.

_Commit, Clary,_ she chanted in her head, moving to the edge of the bathtub to sit down. _Just one night._

She held her breath and put the shoes on, feeling nothing but comfort from the moment she put her foot in. The inner soles had some sort of cushion inside, which made her feel a little more at ease, and had a bit of wiggle room for her toes. _Thank you, jenga-jesus. _Clary put the other twin on and stood up.

_Knock, knock. _"Are you done yet?" Simon asked behind the door. "I want to have a bath with the scented candles and bath salts."

"You know, sometimes the words that come out of your mouth truly frighten me, Si." The redhead fluffed up her hair and pushed the strays off her face. Her curls were pinned off her face to reveal her large doll-like eyes. "You're more girly than me sometimes."

She moved to the door and swung it back. Simon would've fallen had he not heard her footsteps behind the door and moved away. He widened his gaze and whistled. "Well I guess we don't have to worry about who the real girl in this apartment is, do we?"

Both students smirked at one another and mock-punched each other on the shoulder. Clary blushed hard and pushed back the curls over her head. She checked her clock in the living room and raced into her room to get her messenger bag. She spilled a few things onto her bed to give her luggage space and checked for her holy trinity: her phone – check; wallet with cash and credit card – check; her keys to the apartment – check.

She spotted her reflection in her room and squinted at her hair. "Screw it – I'm putting it up."

She slung her bag off her shoulder and pulled her hair up to rearrange it into three different styles. The first was an artfully messy bun, which she scowled at instantaneously; second time round she forced it all into a fish plait, which made her look like a fresh pre-teen playing adult. Finally she settled down for a simple side bun with a few trays draped around her face. Sophisticated but ready for fun.

"Where's the apple-scented candle?" Simon called out through the walls. The sound of the pipes rumbling could be heard as he turned the water on for his bath.

"Underneath the sink," she replied. She straightened up and picked her bag up. She could hear a faint knock ring throughout the apartment. "Coming," Clary yelped.

She stumbled over the gears on the floor and quickly hobbled over to the door. Forget about being graceful – for now she just needed to get the door. She could hear a cheerful tune being whistled behind the wooden barrier. She hauled the chain off the door and pulled the door open.

Jace had both hands behind his back and ceased his whistling when he finally set his eyes on her. His blonde hair was a brighter crown of gold and he was just as dashing as a dashing rogue knight. His gaze turned heavy as he glazed over her figure with his honey-golden eyes. Clary's heart fluttered in relief as she scanned over his appearance. He'd dressed up in formal casual wear, with clean denim jeans, a clean black button-up shirt and a simple dark green sports jacket.

"Right on time," Clary breathed.

Jace's crooked smile adorned his face. "You look mighty fine," he rasped in a low, husky voice. He enclosed the space between them and fixed her with his heavy gaze. "Going somewhere, nurse?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Clary answered cheekily. "I have a date tonight with a hotheaded vigilante."

He brought one palm up and circled it around her waist. "Would this man happen to be tall, rather handsome, quite the charmer in some circles?"

"Something like that," Clary said, cocking her head to the side. "A bit of rascal really. Ego the size of the earth."

Jace brought out one hand and bequeathed her with a single lavender rose. Her heart swelled up with emotion as she took the rose by its' stem. A long black ribbon had been tied around it. "For you, nurse."

She gazed up at him with flushed skin. No one had ever given her a flower before. A corsage for a dance, yes - but never a flower. As corny as the gesture may seem, she could see why girls fawned over the romantic men that gave them a splendid bouquet. It was a whole new experience for her that made her topple off into a pool of emotions. "You're quite the romantic, aren't you?"

He winked at her. "Only at night. Otherwise I'm a complete bad-boy."

Clary found herself tilting her chin up as she kissed her golden knight, smiling through it all. He had firm lips that could hold their own in their lip-lock battle. "I think I'll keep you," she said against his lips.

"Glad to hear it," he growled. He kissed her again, this time upping the intensity factor. She could spend days on end just kissing him, halding him tight around the back of his neck and feeling his pulse rush through his veins.

Regretfully, Clary was the one to pull away from the kiss. Jace still kept his head pressed against hers whilst experiencing a few side effects of their kiss. His breathing was a little ragged and his smile was full to the brim of cockiness.

"Don't we have a reservation to get to?"

Jace nuzzled the redhead cheeks, skimming his nose just under her ear. "I'm sure we can spare a bit of time," he rasped.

Clary pushed him away and linked her arm quickly through his arm. She bopped him on the nose and smirked. "C'mon mister."

.

"This car is beautiful!" she squealed, letting out her inner fangirl. She marveled at the sleek camaro sitting dormant before her, from the rims right down to the interior. She was never a big fan of modern-day sports cars or speed machines like the one Jonathan owned. The bigger the car, the better; the older the design, the sweeter.

"This is one of the first generation models', isn't it? How'd you get it in such a good working condition?"

"My inheritance," Jace explained, standing off to the side while he watched her fawn over the vehicle. "After my parents… passing, there were very few things that survived the fire. One of them was this." he rapped his knuckles against the glass. "The Lightwoods kept this baby at a storage yard until I got my first job and took me to it. After that, I spent a lot of time bringing it back to life, changing the engines and all."

Clary was beside herself with glee. "When my mom remarried, my step-dad use to take me out to a fifties themed restaurant called Jukebox. They had a museum on the grounds featuring antiquities and a long row of old-school cars on display. I even sat in some of the old Mustang Convertibles."

"Good god." He looked up at the sky and raised his hands in praise. "Thank you for this woman!" He crowed gleefully. Jace moved beside her and pulled open the door for her. "After you, m'lady."

Clary bit her lip with excitement and dove straight into the car, nestling down in the passenger seat and zipping the seatbelt in a matter of nano-seconds. Jace slid in the driver's seat and flicked her a mischievous grin. "Calm down there, Red," he teased. "Haven't even left your place and you're already trembling with excitement."

The redhead rolled her eyes and patted the attractive driver on the cheek. "Now, now, driver," she flirted. "You've just raised the standards. However will you beat this tonight?"

"Oh, there's still more to come nurse. Just you wait."

The car was loud, full of life and personality. While they raced out on the road, Jace kept one hand firmly on the wheel while he stuck his head out the window and crowed into the night air, defying society's rules and acting wildly. Clary laughed at the energy he exuded, the confidence her potential boyfriend had running through him. He sang loud and proud, and wasn't too shabby on his pitch control either.

_Dancing in the moonlight_

_Everybody's feeling warm and bright_

_It's such a fine and natural sight_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight_

Clary felt giddy as she swayed her shoulders from side to side. For the first time in ages, she felt truly happy. It was as if someone had come along and relieved her of a tiresome burden, or at least eased the load off her shoulders.

He smiled as he stared forward, bringing one free hand down to clasp her small palm in his warm hand. The gesture was simple, but for her, it was a supernova in the dynamics of her world.

Daikoku was an extravegant restaurant, suitbable for both couples, group dates and families alike. Neon lights flashed brilliantly around the windows, with paper lanterns strung up delicaely in front of the windows and over the entrance into the foyer. Small, but the bustling customers and noise coming from within promised a good time.

Their maitre'd led them to a small booth near the back by a window. Some of the other tables had their food prepared before their eyes, watching the chef's work their magic as they sliced, diced, and flipped the food in the air.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?"

"I have good taste," Jace said, waiting for Clary to sit down before he followed suit. The duo sat side-by-side, waiting paitently for their server to come and take their orders. "As you can obviously tell by my car, my job, and the girl that I'm completely besotted by."

More blushing. More words that made her body tremble. His stare was heavy and it took every ounce of will in her not to pull him to her for a heavy make-out session.

"I'll pay for my own," Clary stated, getting her wallet out at the ready for when the end of tonight's dinner commenced. She needed to distract herself from that need deep inside her. "We'll go half and half."

Jace furrowed his eyes and angled his body towards her. "As I recall, the gentleman is the one who pays for the meal on the first outing." He reached out and tilted her chin up. "My date, my money. I'm paying and that's final."

Clary pouted. _There's still a long time to go till the end of the night, _she thought sneakily.

"Okay." She put on her most innocent smile and relaxed in her little corner of their booth. "Whatever you say."

Clary smiled brightly as she took in her surroundings. She was here at a beautiful restaurant, with a beautiful man who more or less wanted to spend more time with her for more than just her nice looks, and she was completely relaxed. No worrying about deadlines for university, no second thoughts about her brother interrupting her night. The only thing she had to focus on was being happy and choosing what she was going to feed to the fathomless pit she called a stomach.

For the first time in a long time she was relaxed.

"Hello, I'm Tsukiko and I'll be serving you two for the evening."

Until the waitress came.

Clary didn't doubt that Jace would remain vigilante for the night; she had a sneaking thought that his eyes would only be on her for the entire evening. But the waitress – pretty, doe-eyed Tsukiko with an enviable tall slender figure and silky midnight-black hair twirled in an elegant chignon, didn't know that. She was already going in for the kill with the innocent wide-eyed look and extremely long lashes, puckering her lips in a sweet smile for her date.

"What would you two like?" she asked sweetly in a voice that sounded like glass flowers chiming on a spring breeze.

"Perhaps you could make a suggestion for me?" Clary said kindly, keeping her temper under wraps. There was no way she was going to make a mess of tonight. "I usually go for sushi and inari when it comes to Japanese food."

The girl smiled and cocked her head to the side. Her face was sweet but her posture was leaning more into Jace's territory. "The fillet mignon is one of our popular mains," she answered politely. "Mind you, it's quite the heavy dish to consume. Our seafood prawn plate has been quite the demand tonight so that's something to ponder on. It might be a bit easier on your palette."

Clary smacked her lips together and smiled. "Great. I'll take the scotch fillet and a side of prawns to go with it."

Jace plucked her menu out of her hand and folded it up with his own. "Sumo steak for me, and we'll both take the Ice Cream Tempura. Also, can I get a listing of the drinks avaliable?"

"Absolutely." Tsukiko smiled and wrote down their orders. She tucked the pen behind her ear and and took both the menu's back with her to the kitchen. "Your entrée's will be served shortly, and I'll be sure to bring back your request."

Clary didn't mean to be envious of the woman, but she was a girl at heart; of course she'd have jealousy issues like everyone else.

Jace wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. "You are adorable, you know that?"

She pouted moodily while Jace nuzzled her cheek, chuckling away at her petulant attitude. "What are you on about?"

"You know what I mean," he chuckled. "I saw what was going on between you and the waittress." He reached up and placed a small, prolonged kiss on the crown of her head. "Don't worry nurse. I've only got my eyes on my saviour tonight."

That simple statement made her feel a lot more better.

As the night progressed, Clary's muscles became more relaxed and her good mood intensified. The two chatted away over their meals, whiling away the precious time they had together. Jace shared his news of his recent promotion earlier that week, while Clary congratulated him on his success. Yes, she should be worried now that he was officially on the Commissioner's over-qualified police squad, but did she give a damn?

No.

This was her night. Nothing was going to spoil it.

Not the waittress, not her family, and certainly not her boyfriend's job.

"I absolutely had no idea when they brought me in," Jace explained. "I actually thought they were going to question me about this case I was involved in earlier this month, but it was an interview with the board regarding your motivation for applying and what you hope to achive on the squad."

Clary chomped down and swallowed. "I've been meaning to ask – why did you apply for the squad? Isn't being a policeman satisfying enough for you?"

"…Not necessarily," Jace said softly. He circled the rim of his wine glass, his mind lost in thought. "A regular policeman has never been enough for me. I've always wanted to be something more than the average man in blue. Where I am right now, the best I can do is just stop a crime in process. I can't keep criminals off the street, I can't stop people from getting hurt. Becoming a member of one of the elite tastkforces in New York, I'll be endowed with the power to finally put a stop to things that people are ignorant of everyday. I can stop one less family from being abused, prevent one less rapist or murderer from roaming the streets after dealing with their latest victims. Who knows, I might even be able to bring a drug empire down to its knees."

His words were sincere and full of determination. Despite working on the opposite side of the law, Clary had to admire this man's aspiration to become an unstoppable force of good. He wanted to change the world for the better, to rescue this city from the criminals that prowled the streets.

_Criminals like me._

Clary bit down on the inside of her mouth and shook her head to dispel that dark thought. _No. This is a good night tonight. Don't spoil it._

The petite redhead studied Jace in all his glory. Women were lucky enough to find a man who had respect for them, and were even luckier if he had his own ambitions he wanted to achieve. Jace had a real future.

And damn it all if she wasn't going to help him.

"I have no doubt," she said decisively, "That you'll be one of the most bad-ass cops ever to roam the streets of New York."

The policeman turned his gaze over to Clary. She blushed at the face he made. It was the same one that Luke would make whenever she caught him staring at her mother when no one was looking. A look that conveyed a million emotions that no word could ever convey. There was no mischief, no smirk, no sign of any fanciful playing around on his face.

He just looked at her, taking her all in with those luminous eyes.

.

* * *

.

Simon toweled off the rest of his unruly mop, looking at his face in the mirror as he did so. He'd dressed up in dark clothes, with a large jumper thrown over his torso and loose-fitting grey track pants. In the bathroom light, his skin looked paler than normal, showing the faint scar just peeking out from behind his ear down his neck. Painful memories resurfaced from the vision and he turned away from the mirror before he was reminded further of the things he'd given up.

It was a little after nine, and his body was wide awake. Despite the long bath he'd had, he still had plenty of energy left over in his system. And a guilty feeling lying at the pit of his stomach.

The band geek shuffled out of the bathroom and moved meagrely into his room. The room was cramped and overflowing, with barely any sight of the floor below. Books were stacked up in multiple piles, ranging from the latest manga novels to university textbooks and guides to further his musician skills, as well as the odd hobby book here and there. Papers were plastered all over the wall above his headboard, littered with photo's and pamphlets here and there. Steel guitar strings were tangled up in the corner, waiting for their latest victim to ensnare.

The back wall was a memoir of sorts, a shrine full of all the things he considered the utmost priority in his life. There were past exam papers where he'd scored some of the highest marks in his short life, messages from adoring fans he'd met at the most random places; photo's of him and the band members; post-it reminders of chores he had to do and gigs he had coming up. Whatever you could think of, he had it up there.

Simon flopped onto his double bed and flopped one arm lazily off the mattress. He reached underneath and pulled up a small cardboard box, spray painted with black and decorated with all the trademark skills of his six year old self. Simon sat up and lifted the lid off the box.

Memories flooded through him, each of them powerful enough to bring him to tears. There were photo's of him when he was younger; his first birthday where he brought his best friend, pigtails and all. There was an embarrasing photo where his older sister Rebecca was unraveling him from a pile of chistmas wrapping paper, his face frozen in a grimace while she smirked at his pain.

Pain pierced through him. He'd left everything in such a hurry, racing off with a scribbled note left behind for his family, and nothing but the hope that they had given up searching for him.

God, what was his sister doing? Was she married? Did she finish off her degree? Was she travelling around the world and trekking throughout ancient ruins, taking them all in with her polaroid? Hell, did she get married to a nice jewish boy or break tradition and marry outside of their religion?

And what about his mother? What was she doing now?

These were questions that Simon knew he'd never find the anser to. Everything he'd done, the decisions he made – they were all made with the single goal of keeping his family safe from the ghosts that were still haunting him.

The tears were sudden, trailing down his face while he choked back the sobs threatening to appear. He missed his family so much. His mother and sister had been everything after his dad had died. They were the driving force in his life. And now, because of some stupid actions he'd made back in high school he had to forcibly rip himself away from the happy life he once knew. He muttered a jewish prayer underneath his breath, praying for the safety of his loved ones and for good luck and prosperity upon them.

_So stupid, _he cursed. _So goddamn stupid._

His phone vibrated underneath his pillow. Wiping away his tears, Simon reached over to grab it and read the message.

**_In the neighbourhood. Feel like going out for a drive? – Izzy_**

Izzy. Isabelle Lightwood.

Simon had no idea how to tackle her. She was brimming with confidence and thought ahead of herself. She was a bloody living Amazon princess who probably made grown men cry. He admitted that he felt a spark for her, but he didn't know if he wanted to stir it up into a full-blown fireworks display or let it simmer and die out.

_Do you want to go further with her or do you like things the way they are now?_

Clary's words repeated on loop in his head as he stared at the message. Isabelle was way out of his range. Their level of compatability was on par with a princess and a frog, except without kissing and turning into a prince, Isabelle would pick up his slimy behind and fling him back into the last century.

He stared back at the picture she'd saved. She was wearing his star wars jersy, the grey storm-trooper jersy practically swallowing her limb to limb. She was balancing a knife on the tip of her nail, letting it glint dangerously like a warning in the camera lens. _I'm a bad bitch and I'm not gonna back down._

_Do I like her or not?_

Simon rubbed ther back of his head and huffed. He sent back a reply to her. To hell with staying around and moping in his apartment. Clary had her own key, she can get in safely on her own. He dropped his phone on his bed while he searched about for a clean pair of denim jeans.

**_Let's see what the Big Apple's got in store for us_**

**_._**

* * *

**_I'd like to thank my fans for keeping me cool, my hands for doing their job, and Cassandra Clare for creating the TMi and TID chronicles. _**

**_I'll try to do a bit more Malec and Sizzy on the side in the future. _**


	32. Juggling with Brushes and Swords

**HELLLOOOO PEOPLE :D**

**Hopefully everyone had a good new year and all, wherever you are in the world. Right now I'm juggling between studying for my learners and job search. Don't judge me for being 18 without a driving license - I get around fine with the bus... although it would be nice to actually go places with mates instead of having my parents drop me off like a loner :P**

**Don't hate me, parents!**

**Anyhoo, Daria123love brought up something interesting (hope you got my answer back) and I thought I might share it with you guys. Besides the inheritance she gets from Valentine, her main source of income is her student loan and scholarships to pay for schooling. As for jobs, when she's not killing people she tutors first year students in faculties of fine arts and english at the university, along with a casual pay at a small art exhibit in Brooklyn. **

**Anyways, thank you as always for the support you guys give me and the reviews I get back. **

* * *

**.**

**Chapter 32: Juggling with brushes and bullets**

.

There were things about Clarissa that Jonathan would never understand. Like why the ordinary life fascinated her so much; why she couldn't come to terms with being endowed with a rich heritage as a blessing her life. Her poor taste in men. She favored secondhand over the newly improved, and turned her nose up at the finest he had to offer her.

One of her little habits that he'd recently discovered was her penchant to shower in the early hours before dawn and play a discordant symphony of songs on her phone.

And today was one such morning.

Jonathan arose from his bed, throwing off the charcoal silk sheets on his bed. He'd been awake for a while and decided to see what had his baby sister so riled up. Shirtless and dressed in loose sweatpants, Jonathan waltzed out of the darkness of his room and paraded about in search for his sister.

Clarissa had pulled one of the swing chairs out onto the balcony and sat dutifully on the leather seat with her knees pulled to her chest. In her stance she looked small and compliant, an opposite of the spitfire she was. She wore the biggest hoodie she had in her suitcase with her black pajama shorts and had her wet hair twisted up into a bun. Up close he could smell the dizzying sweet scent of fruit.

Jonathan came behind her, crossing over the threshold onto the balcony, and placed both hands firmly on her shoulders. In her hands she was sharpening a katana that he had on display in the living room. Her i-pod touch was playing loudly on speaker, spitting out tunes from her pet Simon's band. "Planning on killing someone?" He said plaintively.

"Only your ego." She tilted the blade towards her to see the edge, watching the lights from windows of surrounding skyscrapers bouncing off the edge. "Not in the mood for shedding blood right now."

"Shame." His hands slid up the length of her shoulders and dove just inside of her hoodie, where he slowly rubbed his hands therapeutically in the juncture between neck and shoulders.

"Do we really have to listen to this lot?" His taste in music danced between classical and the emotionally unbalanced, and Changeling wasn't exactly at the top of things he played often.

"If you have something better to play, be my guest," she said tiredly, without her usual temper, scraping the whetstone against the blade. "I just put it on for background music."

Jonathan pulled his hands away and sauntered around, taking up the deck chair her had set up on the other side of the tiny ottoman. He picked up her device and began scrolling through her playlist, settling on something a little more to his taste.

Clarissa's eyes looked up in surprise as Elizaveta's 'Bella Anima' lanced through the air. The undertones were dark and brooding, something that set Jonathan at ease. "Never figured you for this genre."

"There are many things you don't know about me," Jonathan offered, letting his eyes battle with her tired emerald orbs. "Maybe you should take the time to learn something. I'm not that conceited, soulless monster you've concocted in your mind. I do have a heart beneath this skin of mine."

"A shriveled and black one for sure," she muttered. She returned to sharpening the blade, applying more force than necessary in her movements.

Her comment spurned Jonathan's annoyance, but did not draw it out. He was famous for his temper and for the consequences he dished out at the cost of those who angered him, but he was determined not to let his rage get the better of him around Clarissa. After all, so very rarely did they ever get time together where they _weren't_ blowing the brains out of an assignment or torturing poor unfortunate souls.

"I'll be doing a drop off in a few hours," she stated aloud. She wasn't asking him for permission; she was merely telling him her location so he wouldn't think she'd skived off to avoid completing this mission.

Jonathan sat down quietly as he looked at his sister. She was fairy tale beauty, an almost exact replica of Jocelyn in her younger years. While he pretended to be a better model of Valentine, Jonathan knew that Jocelyn's genetics had tempered the harsh angles and bone structures of their father, rendering him with a tamer and more alluring body image. He could recognize the same delicacy with which he handled things, much like the same way his sister and their mother would hold their brushes with such care. Clarissa's hands were his hands.

He knew she didn't like to think of them as siblings. The divorce between their parents had created an even bigger rift between them, and that precious that should've been spent growing up together had been ripped from them. His memory of the day he left was still clear as day in the back of his mind.

_Jonathan was clearing the last of his clothes, re-organising his belongings in his suitcase. His room, once decorated with posters of various martial arts masters and childhood heroes, was empty. The bed had been stripped down and replaced with neutral tones, while the walls were cleaned and his drawers were emptied. His sister stood in the entrance to his room, watching him take away any trace of his living here. _

"_You know you're breaking mom's heart, right?" She accused, holding her scrapbook in her hands. For a six year old, she was just as observant and mature as he was. Her hair was a bright flame against the starch pale color scheme of his room. "Dad's not going to care about you."_

_Petulant nine-year-old Jonathan was too stubborn at that age to listen to his sister's mewlings. What did she know? "Just because you keep making mistakes and screwing up doesn't mean I will. That's why you keep getting punished."_

"_B-but he's mean! He doesn't let us have f-fun, and he keeps making me fight." Clary shook her head as angry tears welled at the bottom of her eyes. "It's not fair. I'm just a kid!"_

"_We're not just kids, Clary," Jonathan huffed. He spun around and pointed his hand up at the roof. Somewhere up there, Jocelyn was crying tears of pain and anger, locked up in her study with nothing but sculptures and painted faces for company. "You heard it too. Dad's a really important person in New York, and he's really rich and powerful. He's like a king! And mom won't let us go anywhere near it."_

_Clary lowered her voice in a hiss, afraid that neighboring ears would hear her voicing her fears. "But mom said that he's – he's k-killed people too."_

_Jonathan straightened up. "Well, a king's gotta be dangerous to remind his subjects who rules," he said with an air of triumph. "Besides, maybe they were naughty guys too."_

"_Is that all your going for?" His sister said threateningly. "Because of the money? You get spoilt by dad anyways, so what's the difference?"_

_Her brother strode over to his sister, bag in tow and finally prepped for the long flight. Most of his stuff had already been sent away earlier courtesy of Valentine. He looked down at his sister, unremarkable in her pre-teen glory save for her hair and eyes. She'd been a short little thing, with rounded cheeks, freckles and messy curls. Too soft for her father's liking, and too slow to understand just how boring the civil life was for him._

"_I'll see you around, sis," he said plaintively, as if he were going out for a walk instead of changing his home address permanently._

_The wheels of his suitcase squeaked as he strode across the wooden floor. He watched Clary run past him as she darted back up the stairs to comfort their mother. She spun around on the top step to shoot an angry and betrayed look on her face._

"_I hate you, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. You suck, just like dad."_

Why couldn't she just _get _it? After all these years, why couldn't she see that what their father had was a blessing in disguise? So he'd killed a few people in his lifetime – nobody's innocent in reality. Besides, those self-defense lessons Valentine had invested on her were not wasted. They'd gotten her through quite the few tricky situations that other women had crumbled in. She could safely go out at night without fear of being attacked. So technically she should be singing his praises for teaching her to defend herself.

_I want a drink,_ Jonathan moaned. _Just a nice cold glass of—_

"Do you think I'll be safe?"

His dark eyes fluttered open and he stared languidly at his sister, looking across at him with suspicion and fear on her face. "Safe?"

"With the Fae Court case. Do you think I'll be safe?"

Jonathan arched an eyebrow at her question. "Clarissa, this is not the time to be backing out already—"

"I'm not backing out," she reassured him. She rubbed dropped the whetstone onto the ottoman and rubbed her elbow with her freehand. "Although I am concerned with your mental well-being, seeing as you're practically feeding me to a pack of hyena's."

"The Sanguine Clan is not that threatening."

"But they're a recognized entity within New York. And I'm sure they've got plenty connections to ring up if things turn to crud and I suddenly become their prime target to blame in all of this." Clarissa's face turned to a painful grimace and her eyes turned hazy. "I just want to enjoy things more," she admitted. "Last thing I need is to be the leading name at the top of a deadpool with a bounty on my head."

He didn't know what overcame him, but seeing his sister so open, so… vulnerable about her feelings, her fears – it brought something out that Jonathan thought had died long ago. His brotherly instincts were resurrected and he no longer saw her as the beautiful girl with family issues, but as the little girl who screamed at the window as he left her for good. She needed something, anything, some kind of hope to cling onto.

"Don't worry, sister dear," he said softly. His tone held none of the usual malice or pompous ignorance. He spoke quietly and reservedly for his redhead sibling. He turned his gaze back to the sky, where he could see a glimpse of the stars that remained untarnished by air pollution.

"All attentions will be drawn to me anyways, so you'll still have your freedom in the end. I can promise you that for now."

.

* * *

.

The phrase 'Silence is deafening' had never been truer than this moment right now.

"Hmm…"

_God, just say something already, let me out of my misery._

Magnus continued to appraise the object before him with great consideration, looking at every angle at what lay before him.

Clary bit her lower lip in agitation and widened her eyes in paranoia at Magnus's lack of expletives.

She wanted to burn it all. He was taking too long to appraise it and if she couldn't please this guy in the whole of uptown New York, then what chance in hell was she going to have in the real world.

If he wasn't going to say anything within the next five minutes, she was more than willing to slap his head and walk out again.

"_You_ made _this?_" He asked.

"Yes."

The object in question was an art piece Clary had used for her degree. She'd used him as a model for one of her personal pieces and had been graded a commendable B+ for the overall portfolio she'd assembled, a feat which didn't go unrecognized. Having never seen the finished project, Clary had made a gift of the huge canvas; on a dark blue canvas, she'd painted a side profile with painstakingly exquisite detail, from the curve of his jaw to the wry grin he had on his face. She'd captured the healthy gold tones of his skin, the crisp yellow flecks in his cat-like eyes. Teal glitter had been brushed meticulously to imitate his favorite shade of eyeliner, sharp and striking. His then black hair was brushed back with subtle streaks of sun-bleached gold. The suit was a galaxy of color; hues of blues and purples, with subtle Nephilim runes drawn in silver. The edges were sharply cut, the shadows highlighted in the right areas.

"Do you think you could do a full portrait if I asked you to?" He voiced aloud, shattering her paranoia. "Because it would save me from having to look in the mirror every day."

The redhead clapped her hands together. "You like it?"

"Of course," Magnus crowed, raising his empty mug in the air. "It's fresh, it's fashionably messy, and it fits right into this haven of mine."

Clary squealed like a child finding tickets to Disneyland under their pillow. She was beside herself with glee, and could barely contain her happiness. Magnus rolled his eyes and slung an arm over her shoulder as she wrapped hers around his ribcage, thanking him countlessly for approving of her work.

"I love you, I love, I love you…"

"Yeah, everybody loves me Fray-girl," Magnus teased. He glanced mournfully at his empty mug and pulled the girl along with him. "We must drink to celebrate your success."

"No alcohol," she warned.

"Unfortunately, there is no alcohol till later on today."

The kitchen was a beautiful chaos, with wicker baskets hanging from a rung above a marble island in the center. Modern technology mixed with the antique; the microwave had a ceramic bowl shaped like a watermelon filled with various knick-knacks; spices overflowed the air as they were lined in glass jars along the shelves like rejected snow-globes. There were various pots of tea bags and tea leaves alike, and a new set of china out in the open. Modern electric spotlights dangled low at differing lengths, and the large fridge hummed with contentment. One could go so far as to say that both kitchen and dining room were something off a tumblr blog.

"I've found a new flavor that I want to try," Magnus said, skipping ahead in his kimono robe and picking up an orange box. He proudly displayed it to her. "'_Perfect Peach'._ Feeling adventurous?"

"With you, it's always an adventure."

"Wise words."

Clary moved over to the table in the dining room, basking in the sunlight pouring through the windows. While Magnus brewed the tea, she reached out for the latest time magazine, featuring the one and only on the cover. Magnus Bane was always in the spotlight one way or another, whether it be for his chivalrous and charitable accomplishments, the latest investment in budding fashion boutiques and business deals, V.I.P visits to events, or the shameful testaments from recent one-night stands – although the latter was never taken seriously enough to be plastered on reliable public media sources. Since he'd come to America, he's swept the entire city with his achievements, and being new to the scene the tabloids had focused all their attentions on him; the foreign blood taking New York by storm.

"How's your life been lately?" She asked curiously.

Magnus sighed happily. "It's been _great_," he swooned. He ran his fingers through his hair and hummed contently. "It's been really great."

Clary flicked the corner of the magazine down and looked back at the half-caste with interest. He was in oddly high spirits, even before she'd arrived with her work. When he answered the door he was swaying back, smiling away for no reason. He was never this happy about successful deals, and he was never one to find pride in racking in a huge financial gain. She could only put it down to one thing.

"Okay, who'd you bring over and tell me how it was."

"What are you talking about. Fray?"

"Cut the innocent crap, Magnus," she criticized cheekily. "Who'd you have over last night?"

The socialite chuckled low in his chest and sighed dreamily. "A blue-eyed angel with chiseled abs." He turned around and looked over at Clary with amusement in his eyes. "Y'know your blonde boyfriend? The one you drew up for me the other time?"

_Blonde boyfriend?_ Clary's cheek flushed red and she shook her hair down in front of her eyes. "Jace is not my boyfriend," she mumbled with a nervous laugh.

"Not from what Simon's been telling me," Magnus said with a wink. "Which by the way is pretty rude of you, with-holding all this information concerning your love life—"

"What does Jace have to do with _your_ love life?" Clary said loudly.

"His brother – that beautiful, glorious policeman with the body of a fucking masterpiece and a jawline that could cut glass. I've been seeing his brother Alexander since the club."

The redhead was a little surprised by this. She remembered him taking Alec away back at Pandemonium, but she didn't think he'd be this taken by him. Sure he had his favorite combination of blue eyes and messy black hair, but Alec had seemed a little intimidating, and more distant than his siblings.

"How many times has he been over?"

"Twice," Magnus replied promptly. The kettle was boiled and he poured a generous amount in two mismatched mugs, adding the sachets and letting it sit on the island for a few minutes. "Although to be fair, we've had three phone conversations, two attempted dinner dates, one successful date at Simon's gig the other night, and a surprise visit at my office. Last night we had dinner and I had the pleasure of helping him stop a robbery." A devilish look came into his tiger-eyes and he smiled smugly. "To be fair, I am taking it slow with this one. He hasn't actually spent the night over yet. He claims he's a frigid fish, but let me tell you he's _really_ quick to learn the ropes."

The redhead arched her eyebrow in surprise. "Do my ears deceive me? Magnus the Magnificent – is taking things _slow_? Pray tell your change of pace in the sexual hunt."

The exotic man rolled his eyes and carried the steaming mugs over to them, placing one in Clary's palm. "Unlike my previous exploits, Alexander isn't necessarily one-night stand material. He's very… insecure about his own sexuality. You'd think being the eldest in a household like his, he'd be more prideful and up himself. But that's not the case." His gaze turned thoughtful as he reminisced over their night together; the way Alec's fingers had been soft but demanding, how he would shyly turn away and moan softly beneath Magnus's strokes. Amidst the troublesome drama on the street, Magnus had managed to find time to kiss the guy to dizzying heights in his own car as they left the cops on patrol to handle the culprit. Alec was a welcoming change in his whirlwind of a life, bringing calm to the colorful typhoon that Magnus experienced everyday.

"Being the eldest doesn't leave kids without their own scars," Clary voiced, sipping her drink. She made a face but swallowed the beverage down. "I would know."

"Ahh, yes. 'He-who-must-not-be-named'," Magnus clarified, hinting at the redhead's brother. "He's had his fair share of struggles in his life, but the main issue I think Alexander has is his protective streak. He thinks he has to be the invincible white knight in shining armor every hour of the day, just like his father, that it's affected how he carries himself. His confidence is fragile when it comes to things outside of his job and family, so he's hesitant about doing things for himself. He's so used to being the shield for everyone that I don't think he's ever taken the backseat just to let someone else look after him, let alone do anything for the sake of his own happiness. So yes, I'm taking things slow with him until he finally learns to love himself and then we'll see where things spiral out from there. Hopefully it'll end with him making use of those handcuff's of his."

Clary stared whimsically at her model with her head perched on both palms. "You are both a hopeless romantic and shameless sadist," she commented.

"I know. It's one of my lovable traits."

Her eyes crinkled in the middle. "You're not going to break him, are you?" Tabloids still followed Magnus like an uncomfortable rash, and she didn't want either of them to get hurt in the process.

A cautious look crossed his face as an uncomfortable memory resurfaced in his mind. Blonde hair and dark eyes flickered before his eyes, followed by harsh stinging reminders of his last failed intimate relationship.

"I can't make any promises," he said offhandedly, hiding deeper emotions from the redhead. "For now, I'll enjoy while it lasts and let him make the choices."

Magnus straightened up and leered smugly at Clary. "Enough of that though. Give me details."

"On what?"

"Don't play coy. Simon's given me a few spoilers, but I want to hear the whole story."

Clary huffed. Of course it was her turn to share. While the skies darkened outside, Clary shared the outcomes of her dates and how drop dead gorgeous he was countless times. Her actions were animated and even Magnus could see how excited she was about this guy. With Magnus, she felt like she could relieve herself of all her love troubles, something she couldn't always explain to Simon without getting mocked for her puppy-love attitude about the matter. He could see that he was promising potential and raised his eye at the mention of Alexander's sister and Simon's interest in her.

"It makes sense why he's so scared," Magnus agreed. "Alexander's given me a brief rundown on his siblings personalities. The girl sounds like my twin, only less nymphomaniac and much better filling in a dress. She's got two intimidating brother's, a mind-blowing choice in career, and no doubt an impressive dating history, if her choice in fashion are the same as her taste in men."

"But you'd think he'd be a bit more assertive with Isabelle knocking on his door."

"He just needs time," Magnus said breezily. "Simon's not like you and I. You're confident whether you're single or not; I prowl the streets and know that all eyes will be admiring me. Meanwhile, Simon's used to watching girls blow him off, not chase after him."

Thunder rumbled through the apartment and rain began to pelt heavily against the window frame. The skies had become dark and foreboding, with no promise of relinquishing their dominion to the shining sun. Clary tightened the jacket around her and stood up to put her cup in the dishwasher.

"You doing anything else today?" Magnus inquired off-handedly. "We could have a comedy marathon. And prank call the crap out of Lewis."

"Not today, Mags," Clary said regrettably. Her mind weighed heavy with the things that were about to occur later on that afternoon. With the addition of the bad weather, her problems were escalating. "I've got a client that I'm working with this afternoon."

Magnus wiggled his bejeweled fingertips as she walked out with her bag in tow. "I'll pray for you, Fray-girl."

"Please do."

.

* * *

.

People had the common misconception that Lily was the pinnacle of control. No matter how disastrous things were around her, they could always rely on Lily to be their anchor of sanity and bring them out of the chaos. She was so calm, so well-put together, so intelligent. She had the right words to say to pull people together, and could inspire a myriad of emotions.

Just wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.

_Wrong._

Lily's tolerance levels were extremely low. She never talked because none of the things she had to say were exactly forthcoming. She was calculating, but annoyed to the brink of insanity at the mistakes her underlings made. The only reason her face was blank was because she was struggling not to lash out at the offender that screwed up.

After doing one final security check with the guards, Lily finally began to make her way down to the ground floor. She looked like something out of a punk rock music video, with grey denim jeans ripped fashionably from the knees up, a blue plaid peplum singlet, and heavy doc martins. The occasion didn't call for formal fashion, so she decided to put her hair up with in a choppy bun, baring the moon tattoo behind her ear and the several piercings nailed in the shell of it.

_He's going to be late._

As second to the Head of Sanguine, Lily had the 'pleasure' of being in charge when Raphael was out of the hotel – which was to say she was left with 'house-keeping' duties. The gang respected her and followed when Raphael's was gone, and she liked being in charge, but she hated baby-sitting the whole place. Raphael loved order, and was clearly a person with serious OCD in another life.

Early that day, Lily had nearly given Raphael an earful as he made his way out. "You realize you have an appointment this afternoon."

"Yes."

'And yet here you are making plans to cross to the other side of the city to sort out a few _issues_ at this ungodly hour."

"I want to beat the traffic."

Lily had nearly hissed in frustration and tapped her boot impatiently. "Can't this wait until later on tonight?"

Raphael stared straight at the taller Asian woman. "I have duties to attend to as the Head of this Clan. And I will not have some sore trigger-happy maniac spark a war with the other Heads. The last Head led this rabble into a mess and in doing so, drew quite an unfavorable eye on us. I'm merely cleaning up the mess she left behind so we have more mobility."

Lily had sobered up after that conversation. After final orders and a reminder of his model appointment, Raphael had sped away on his motorbike, off to discipline an aimless bunch of spoilsports who knew nothing about pride and honor.

Raphael had the right idea though, cleaning up the mess Camille had made. Not throwing her under the bus, but as former Head of the Sanguine Gang, Camille had made poor choices in her final weeks – including making a deal with a repeat offender from Europe in exchange for heroine shipments. The last straw had been when Lily found out the man was torturing young men downstairs in their own basement out of sick, perverse pleasure – including a few of their initiates.

The dark-haired woman shuddered at those memories. Those dark days were a reminder of why she pushed and supported Raphael when he became the next generation's Head. With him came a new age of control. All the abominable creatures that had fallen to drug and abuse under the name of Sanguine when Camille ruled had been, to put lightly – 're-educated' at HQ. Word spread of Raphael's punishment and eventually he'd weeded out all the bad seeds to leave behind a stronger breed that were loyal, and selfish enough to care about their own safety and follow his stead

She tapped her wrist impatiently as she moved down to ground floor. Already she could hear noises heralding the artist they'd hired, and Raphael still wasn't back yet.

"If that _baka_ isn't back in the next ten minutes, I will ruin his perfect office with my own bare hands," Lily vowed. She trudged down the stairwell and watched as the redhead prepped her bag full of her equipment, shrugging out of her ridiculous pink raincoat.

Clarissa Fairchild looked up with stubborn annoyance in her eyes. "You have no idea how bad it is out there," she said dryly. "Practically raining bullets with that heavy rain."

Lily didn't know what to think about the redhead. She was too… sweet for her. The woman looked like a cameo from Disneyland, with her pretty red Little Mermaid hair, and bright green eyes. Strictly speaking, Lily initially thought the girl should never have been invited in the first place. However, given the fact that she passed the test and showed a hint of sass during the Q&amp;A for the screening process with the other candidates, Lily had to give the short girl some credit. Especially with those badass shoes she wore on her last visit. She was bearable and likable, but Lily couldn't see them sitting down and braiding each other's hair at a sleepover. Clarissa was so out of place in this building alone.

"Need me to help with anything, Fairchild?" Lily asked

Clary huffed and held her bag up. "I'm capable of doing it myself. Just direct me back up to where I'm going."

"Of course." While they climbed the stairs, Lily gestured subtly to the guards stationed by. The tablet hummed in her hand and she received a new message from her boss. She scowled at the screen and huffed. "Mr. Santiago left early this morning for some morning exercise, and he's not here right now. He'll be arriving in the next ten minutes though, so feel free to take the time you need to set up your station, Fairchild."

The girl nodded compliantly and hoisted the bag in a more sturdy position on her shoulder. They entered the study with the books and velvet sofa set.

"Fairchild," Lily began, "Why did you apply for this? You know who we are, who Mr. Santiago is. And yet you still come into this building without a care in the world. Why?"

Clarissa stared up at Lily with a plain expression on her face. "I just want to paint. I don't care if you're rich, poor, a saint or a convict – give me a concept and I will deliver."

Her answer was unique and honest, without prejudice. _I might warm up to you yet. "_Well, unless you have any qualms, someone will come up during the session with snacks for you."

"Snacks?"

"Yes. We're not going to force you to work on an empty stomach." Lily shot her a winning smile and bared her glistening teeth. "Or are you afraid we poison our guests?"

"Well, if you poison me, bury me with my brushes and give my hair to cancer," Clarissa rebuffed.

Lily smirked and glided out of the room in her heavy boots, a feat that was by no means effortless to do. "I'll leave you to it then."

.

.

Heavy rain pounded against the floor of the concrete jungle. While everyone else stayed indoors, those unlucky enough to be stuck outside were drenched to the bone. Cars swerved to avoid the puddles, but every so often someone would speed through and spray the water over unfortunate pedestrians.

Raphael zipped down the road, winding his way expertly down the small alleyways leading back to the Hotel. Rain did nothing to dampen his mood. After all, he just came back from a bloodbath so this was practically cleansing him of his sin.

The motorbike skidded across the wet ground, growling as he pulled the brakes whilst going around tricky corners. By the time the hotel was in sight, he was more than eager for a well-deserved shower.

He didn't see the masked figure polishing his blade in the next building over.

.

.

"…be on time."

"I make no promises, Lily."

Clary looked up from her stand and watched as the man himself strode in, still steaming from the shower with damp curls crowning his head. He wore a simple grey sweater and clean-cut trousers with leather shoes.

Raphael crossed over the floor and spared Clary the second glance as he perched himself on the window seat. He flicked his dark eyes at the redhead with careless leisure. He was an imposing man, and more intimidating in the daylight. "Miss Fairchild," he said exhaustibly.

"Mr. Santiago."

"Let's dispel with the formalities," he said tiredly. He rubbed his eyes and unslung the towel around his neck. "I am here to model, you are here to paint. How would you like me to be positioned for this painting?"

Clary gulped and put on her most professional face. "Anywhere with good lighting," she directed. "The backdrop for this painting will be up to you, but right now, the most important feature is you. Since this will be a recurring event, I would suggest you find a comfortable position and stick with it for the duration of my service."

Raphael nodded and shifted along the window seat until his back was reclined against the wood. He angled his face in her direction but never looked directly at her; as if he were staring through her. The rain was distracting, but the lighting in the room managed to do its job.

Clary pulled the pencil behind her hair and quickly, meticulously, lightly sketched the basic shape of his figure on the canvas. Once she had the ghost on the page, she picked up her palette and pulled out one of the finer brushes in the denim pocket of her art shirt. She mixed a few colors together to make the base layer for his skin tone and lightly began her work.

There was a calm peace in the room, something that Clary rarely achieved. Despite being next to one of the heavy-hitters in New York's underworld, he'd seemed very… 'muted' compared to the more violent archetypes. Axel had his old-school rules, and the Fae Court was about the glitz and the glam, with the Queen herself being the crown jewel of it all. The Morgenstern's classy approach could make blood stained gowns look like the newest fashion craze if they wanted to; Jonathan was lethal and quick-witted, Valentine reigned as the king of subtlety. Even Camille used her seductive charms to advance her placement when she was Head of the Sanguine Gang.

And yet Raphael Santiago seemed more introverted than the rest of the Heads altogether.

_What's your contribution to this world?_ Clary wondered, her image coming to life on the canvas. _How'd you get into this position?_

Eventually the silence became somewhat torturous for Clary and she had to say something to break the ice. Raphael had been still too long for a normal human being.

"Do you need anything?" She asked gingerly. _Why am I quiver—You are a goddamn Morgenstern, Clary. This guy is nothing to be scared of. _"A drink, book – T.V screen behind me to keep you up to date with the world?"

"I'm fine the way I am," Raphael said curtly. "I just need complete silence for the time being."

Clary nodded compliantly. Inside she was miffed by the sudden hostility. Her first meeting of him was that he was suave and very charismatic. Now that the curtain had dropped, he was nothing more than a slightly cranky old man trapped in the body with the face of a Botticelli angel.

_Rough day for him,_ she gathered.

"Miss Fairchild."

Clary steeled herself as Raphael's voice broke through. "Yes?"

"You don't seem to be frightened."

"Of what?"

"Of me, this place – the people who come and go. Surely you've heard of the reputation I have."

_Oh I've heard plenty, Raphael. You're all pretty boy out in the open, but there's a viper lying dormant in that soul of yours._

"I've seen worse," Clary replied honestly. "I heard worse. I've dealt with worse. I don't think there's anything that could scare me off now except for failing my degree, and ruining this job."

The man nodded in acknowledgement and returned to his previous position.

She looked over at the grandfather clock in the corner and watched as the big hand struck one.

_One hour._

* * *

_._

Marshall watched Lily pass him by, nodding at her in recognition. He was heading back to his bed to get the rest he so rightly deserved. He'd been out partying all night and he and his buddies got into a little skirmish with some stupid wannabe gangbanger's.

He shrugged off his jacket as he climbed the stairs and ducked into the nearest room. He locked the door behind him and dove down onto the single bed, stripping himself from the waist up. Subtle hickeys could be seen along his chest, awarded by a girl who'd frisky with him in a hidden corner at one of the bars.

Marshall slumped down onto the bed, too hung over and too tired to notice the wet footprints leading from the window to the closet.

As soon as he was fast asleep, the masked figure stepped out from the closet and looked at the guy. He calmly walked out of the room and shut the door with barely a creak in the floor, locking it on the outside. The hallway was absent of both people and cameras. He reached up to his earpiece and clicked the comm.

"All right, Miss Whitewillow," Jonathan spoke sensuously, pulling off the mask. "Have you gained control of the cameras?"

"_Yes, Mr. Morgenstern. I'm monitoring the live feed and ready to switch it with the recorded footage. Move on my command."_

A sinister grin made it's way on Jonathan's skin as the thrill of the mission coursed through him.

"Lead the way."

.

* * *

**Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Apologies if there's any mistakes in here - you guys really do need to call me out on this, too. You don't have to be nice to me all the time, I can handle Next one's gonna be all on Jonathan and Kaelie. Might be a bit of bloodshed, might be a bit of violence - who knows?**

**So, I'm thinking of something and I just wanna pop it out there for all you guys:**

**Since I can't write too much about all the sizzy and Malec (although I will devote entire chapters in the future to them, don't worry) would you like it if I did like little one-shot series about the dates we never get to see them go on in this story? I kinda started thinking about it after I began writing a Sizzy story that I was gonna put in this section, but then I remembered I need to get the actual story moving along without the fillers.**

**I'll probably still do it, but it would probably make me feel better if I knew what you guys wanted too.**

**Bye for now, my crazies**

**_-Violentkitsune_**


	33. Chapter 33: The Eighth Commandment

**I LIIIIIIIVE! *looks side to side SO TELL ME WHAT MORTAL NEEDS MY PROTECTION TODAY, GREAT ANCESTOR? YOU JUST SAY THE WORD - VENGEANCE WILL BE MIIIIIINE.**

**So yeah. I'm alive.**

**And so's this story.**

**And i bet all of you were half-crying in yours beds saying, 'woe is me, i haven't read anything decent from violentkitsune since last year (or was it after new years?)**

**I apologise for the wait, but you have no idea how difficult it was for me to get the ending of this chapter. I've been stuck for months trying to figure out how on earth i'm gonna build the bridge to the intense parts, so i went on a bit of a hiatus. My sincere apologies. **

**Let me give you an update on my life so far: status - unemployed. Stamina - can last in a game of b-ball for all of 60 seconds. Current addiction - What a Wonderful World covered by Joseph William Morgan (so beautiful and dark - PLEASE LISTEN TO IT. SO INTENSE!) Newest religion - Capture the Flag with the squad at a local skate park. Withdrawals - no new fairy tail chapters lately (T-T)/ Latest tv craze - I finally got back into The 100 after waiting for the episodes so i could binge-watch all of season 3 so far (BELLARKE FOREVER) (P.S MALEC FOR THE WIN.) **

**finally got my mojo back, so look forward to more stuff, especially clace fluff next time *fufu**

_**~Violentkitsune**_

* * *

**Chapter 33: The Eighth Commandment**

.

The Hotel Dumort was quiet today. All the guests staying onsite were spread out all over, from the dorm floor to the reception area, to the kitchen and oversized garage they had out back, filled with motorbikes and heavy escalades.

Kaellie had a network of computers set up in a motel two blocks away and had successfully hacked into the Sanguine network, piggybacking on several servers along the way. Both her aids were at the ready, each tasked with a specific job and more than willing to help her.

"Alya, what do we have on the cameras?"

The willowy brunette brushed her pixie hair back as she switched between different camera screens. Few people were crossing back and forth across the floors, and she could see the guards stationed near each of the major outpost.

"He needs to go up," she concluded after her review. "The security down below in the basement is tight, but there are too many people moving in and out of the—"

"—_ere to be considered private storage, which is correct._" Jonathan's voice echoed on the receiver and the brunette raised both eyebrows. "_Raphael likes to take in the disobedient lot and break them in downstairs for their insubordination. Surely you've heard the rumors going around about how things are under his control?_"

Kaelie pursed her lips at Jonathan's remark and ordered her aids to continue their work. Kaelie watched as Jonathan crossed into view. Alya coordinated his transition from each screen with the stored footage they had, transitioning it perfectly without a hitch. Beside her, a green-haired man chewed thoughtfully as he typed in command prompts to delay the real-time footage at the Sanguine's HQ. So far, Jonathan had been in the clear, coming across no disturbances as he navigated his way down the hallway.

"He's in the west wing right now," the green-haired man spoke, flicking his eyes over to the blueprints they'd borrowed from the Morgenstern's grasp. "At the end of the corridor, turn right and there'll be a stairwell for him to go up."

"Got it, Vandal. Alya, watch for any other people coming up. Hopefully the security is lax and won't notice people disappearing from the screen. Jonathan, please make attempts not to draw attention to yourself."

They watched Jonathan bound around the corner with careless leisure on the cameras. The pixie brunette's transitions were executed with almost perfect accuracy. Vandal had a live audio feed from the security room and was listening out for any irregularities that something had gone wrong on their end, pulling up files from their computer. Meanwhile, Kaelie was putting her technical skills to work as she hacked into the security system, looking for any loopholes and searching for extra obstacles that Jonathan might come across during his pursuit. As proud of their skills as they were, it was the first time they'd been put in a situation as extreme as this.

The whole mission loomed over them as it settled into their brain. This was a do or die mission. Even though they were not trespassing on Sanguine grounds, just by aiding the Morgenstern boy put them all in jeopardy. If Jonathan Morgenstern failed, or worse, was discovered by the opposition, not only would they incur the wrath of the head of the Fae Court they would be branded a liability by the Morgenstern Empire.

It was essential that Jonathan Morgenstern succeeded.

* * *

.

As dangerous as this was, Jonathan couldn't help but take note of the Sanguine's re-furbishing; there was a classic, timeless quality about the whole place. The floor was made from varnished walnut planks aligned perfectly, the walls an emerald green with damask patterns painted on the wallpaper. Out by the stairwell, a chandelier could be seen near the top, shimmering with a thousands glass facets dripping off the metallic black arms.

Hotel Dumort - Hotel of Death.

How shocked would the Viper be if he saw a Morgenstern walking freely in his own home as if it was his own? Jonathan smirked as he casually took the stairs two at a time. He passed a pair of pale twin girls decked in short leather dresses, too engrossed with their own ordeals to notice him. From the east wing, he could hear raucous laughter and the sound of glass knocking against one another. The radio was on loud and blasted arousing lyrics in the air, backed by percussion and a terrific bass guitar solo.

"Is there anyone else on the top floor?"

"_None. Vandal's been processing the records on their end; no one's been up there for and hour. You'll have whole floor to yourself, but be quick. Raphael's assistant is on the floor just below you, and she's been seen making random visits to the top floor_."

Lily, the Sanguine's faithful guard dog, Jonathan catalogued. He moved silently onto the top floor, swapping dark carpet for burgundy walls and revolutionized gaslight-lamps. There were pedestals with vases and sculpture busts on display, all in favor of painting a sophisticated representation of the Head's artistic representation. The hallway twisted and turned, and the number of doors showing up decreased as Jonathan ventured forth.

"Is Raphael still indisposed?"

_"Yes_," Kaelie answered. "_He's still in his study with Miss Morgenstern. If she's true to her word, Mr. Santiago will be out of the way for the next three hours at the most."_

"Good. I'd hate to for him to interrupt me in at such an important time." The pale blonde upped the pace. "Where's the room we talked about, Whitewillow?"

"_End of the corridor, last door on the right_."

Jonathan followed the directions given and moved soundlessly across the floor. There were a few cameras set up in each corner, but with the Seelie crew on the offensive, there was no need to worry about setting off any alarms.

He coasted down the hallway and came face to face with the barricade barring him from his goal. The door was nondescript to the naked eye, but he remembered everything they'd discussed in the final modifications to their plan. Going over the architecture plans Clarissa had given them in, the door was heavy oakwood, thick in width. It was one of the original details that had existed back in the hotel's earlier prime, and unless Raphael had asked for upgrades, the only way to open it would be with an old fashioned key. Jonathan crouched closer to the door and studied the locking mechanism. The handle was carved with vintage designs, the doorknob fashioned into the head of a bronze cobra snake. He reached inside his vest and pulled out his tools. While he began prying and working the keyhole, he turned his head and listened out for any telltale signs of someone approaching him.

"Whitewillow, give me eyes on the security."

"_We've got no visual in there, Morgenstern. I've found a way to access the sensor alarms and I've hacked into a loophole in the programming, but there's a very short window for you to get the piece._"

"How short?" Jonathan asked, wriggling the picks further while he twisted the tension wrench.

"_Three minutes at best_."

He huffed while he continued playing around with the door. "Five minutes would've been better, but I suppose I'll make do with three." After a few more seconds of playing around with the archaic lock, the door finally clicked unlocked and yielded to him. Jonathan took the small victory with a triumphant smirk and stowed away the tools in his jackets, pocketing it next to the knives he had.

He stood up and brushed back his hair and popped the collar of his jacket. He looked at the watch on his wrist and counted down. "On my mark, Kaelie," he ordered quietly. "Three, two, one – go."

The door swung open slowly, and the hinges whined as he pressed his shoulder against it. Jonathan cringed at the noise and opened it wide enough for him to wriggle in, closing it shut immediately behind him. The skylight was fifteen feet high, and provided a perfect view of the rainstorm echoing outside. So far, the radio connection between them was holding up fine, but if the weather itself worsened, well…

That would leave Jonathan in a very compromising situation.

The room was dimly lit, but extremely spacious and well organized like a museum exhibit. An armory was set up along the walls, while several filing cabinets lined the back, full of paperwork that could very well incriminate them should they fall into the wrong hands. Jonathan turned to the left and was taken back by the catholic shrine built in the corner, with candles placed on either side of the three foot statue of the virgin mother Mary and baby Jesus in her arms. A shimmering red tablecloth was set underneath, with a set of scriptures and rosemary beads dangling off the table. A cross was hung behind it, plated in gold.

"Hope you're enjoying the view, God," Jonathan mumbled, crossing himself with a wry grin. "Better get comfy while I break another of your precious, sacred rules."

There were glass cases with old antique guns, jewelry nestled on velvet cushions, and various memorabilia from previous operations. Everything was catalogued and organized, without so much as a hint of chaos in the mix. Jonathan could smell faint traces of cinnamon and cigars haunting the air about the room.

Each of the big empires in this city had riches of their own that had come in their grasps, and it grew in size as more and more raids were carried out.

Jonathan whistled low and pulled out the tiny flashlight in his pocket. He recognized some of the pieces that were out in the open; the Debeers Marie Antoinette diamond necklace that had gone missing on the move to Russia; an old automaton standing up right and supported by metal stands on either side in it's glass box. The mechanisms were old but detailed beneath the gray metal plating. The floor had a mosaic pattern in the center fashioned in the head of the Gorgon Medusa, the serpents in her hair frozen with their fangs bared and yellow topaz gems in their eyes. Expensive, Jonathan mused. He kicked the floor lightly.

A few more knick-knacks grabbed his attentions, but there was still no sign of what he was looking for. Time was ticking on, and in this dim light, there was very little that could catch his attention. The knives he left undisturbed, the portraits he shuffled around in search for hidey-holes behind the black and white photos. He moved old records and pushed the trolley holding the vintage gramophone.

Jonathan bustled around and his patience was being tested as he searched the room. His radio link beeped in warning as the one-minute marker passed.

_Where would I put all the recently stolen shit away so I can re-organise the junk later?_

A chest caught his eye, pushed all the way in the back. Jonathan moved stealthily to a large wooden chest, scratched and worn along the edges. The hinges were old, and the lock was left abandoned on the floor. He hastened his movements and lifted it up, watching dust bunnies pop up from inside. There were several things inside, all sealed up in separate plastic bags with dates on them. Good. Makes my job much easier.

He pushed everything aside, digging past leather wallets and Prada bags, ignoring the sounds of loose change sifting through his fingers. Bags of jewelry slipped through his hands as he dove deeper in, waving the flashlight. He began pulling things out to make his search easier, grunting at the amount of noise he was making.

"_Morgenstern—_"

"I know, Kaelie," Jonathan sang lowly.

"_I strongly suggest yo_—"

"I know." Jonathan reached down the bottom and felt something in his hand. He took a tighter hold on it and pulled it, gasping triumphantly at his find - Titania's Instrument. The panpipes were in good shape, the volcanic glass polished and gleaming in the light of the storm. Nothing looked broken, and there were no fractures to say otherwise.

The silver-blonde smiled and stood up. "Found it, faeries."

"_Don't celebrate too early. The alarms are set to go back online in twenty seconds, so get out of there now_!"

The pale blonde quickly shoved everything back in and scrambled back up onto his feet as he raced to the door. Anxiety flooded his ears as the Seelie aids scrambled to delay the alarm system. He'd barely gotten both feet out of the room when he saw the lights from the sensors in the walls flicker on, beeping to life as the door slammed shut behind him. Had he been a second slower, he would have garnered the attention of everyone in the building.

"I'm out," Jonathan announced, breezing away from the door. He hid the pipes up his sleeve and held it close as he walked briskly, keeping calm while the voices clamored on his end.

"_Morgenstern, th… on the… two coming…_"

The pale blonde frowned and paused as he listened to the crackling in his ears. "Kaelie. Kaelie!" Thunder clapped and the walls shook as the heavens roared above. The temperature dropped to a chilling degree that resonated throughout him. A low growl built up as he realized he would be making the way out blindly. He stilled himself and breathed in deeply.

_Relax, Morgenstern._

_Breathe._

_This is nothing._

Jonathan straightened himself and began a languid, fluid walk down the hallway. After turning to the left and heading back to the stairwell, he heard footsteps coming down just before the sources came into view. Both were burly, oversized ghouls who were polar opposites in dress style. While one had ginger hair and a messy plaid button-up and ripped jeans, the other had dark skin and was a little more formal in style, save for the piercing on his bottom lip. Both of them were taken back by Jonathan's appearance on the floor.

The ginger walked up to Jonathan with a mocking scowl on his face. "I ain't seen you 'round here before. You a newbie?"

"Been outta town a couple years," Jonathan replied smoothly, putting on a thick Irish accent. "Just got back an' suddenly I get jumped like that twilight bastard with the sparkly skin. Don't know where this pretty lass went, do ya? Brown hair, copper skin—" he mimed a push up bra, "Big bust? Good for playing with ye hands?"

The ginger sneered and laughed. His counterpart wasn't so tickled by the plea. "Man, you're on the wrong floor if you're looking for your girl. Everyone likes to sleep and do the fun stuff on the floor down below. Top floor's for the big guns only."

He knitted his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, that's what she meant," he said in surprise. He clapped the guy on the shoulder as he moved pass. "Thanks for the heads up."

A hand stretched out and stopped him, followed by a gruff voice. "Do you really believe his story?" The guy pushed Jonathan back and stared at him with dark eyes. His eyes shot down to his arms. "Left hand. What's in it?"

"I'm not sure it's wise to advertise to the whole world what kinda business I'm up to with a woman," Jonathan hinted, plastering the dark, reassuring smile. This guy wasn't buying any of his bullshit and it was clear that he wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

The dark-skinned man tugged on his arm and met resistance from the silver-blonde. His frown deepened. "Show me now, or I kick your ass here and now."

Jonathan smiled darkly and stared at the ginger. He pushed his freehand inside his jacket and sighed. "You know, if he hadn't been so persistent, you might've avoided the outcomes of this encounter."

The ginger furrowed his eyebrows and lost the cocky smirk. He reached out and spun Jonathan around so that he faced them both, with his partner's hand still clasped around his forearm. "What are you on about, Lucky Charms?" He reached behind and grabbed ahold of his arm, pulling out a syringe from his hand. It was loaded and full of clear liquid, with the cap still covering the needle.

"You shooting up in here, Irish boy?" the dark-skinned man demanded. He let go and pushed his elbow up against Jonathan, backing him up against the wall. "We don't do drugs in this hotel, not unless you want to get yourself beaten to death with a bloody mace."

Jonathan tilted his head and smiled warmly. "Don't worry guys. It's ain't Heroine if that's what your worried about."

"Then what is it, jackass?"

"Oh, just a harmless medicinal anesthetic," Jonathan drawled. He struck his freehand out and punched the guy holding him up, watching him crumple on the floor in a fetal ball. The ginger-haired stud barely had time to react and sloppily kicked at him. Jonathan easily deflected the blow and snuck an elbow out just below the chin. He quickly wrapped his right hand around his neck and reached out to catch the falling syringe. The ginger struggled as Jonathan pulled the cap off with his teeth and stabbed the syringe into his body. He emptied the contents in him and threw him against the floor. By now the other guy had gotten up and had both arms up and ready for a proper fistfight.

The Morgenstern boy dodged the high-kicks and snuck a kick at his supporting leg, sending him flailing onto the ground. For good measure, Jonathan came down hard with an elbow to his guts, pushing all the air out of him out of shock. Jonathan reached in his pocket and pulled out the second syringe he had stowed away. The guy growled and made a move to get up, but Jonathan had already slammed him down into a chokehold, watching his eyes bug out from lack of air.

"Sweet dreams, prick," Jonathan said with sneer, uncapping the needle. "When you wake up, you won't remember a damn thing about this." As soon as the needle pierced his skin, he rapidly began to struggle and fight against him. Jonathan slipped away from him and watched as he sloppily pushed himself upright against the wall for support. His ginger companion was out cold with a few bruised showing up, and in a matter of seconds his partner was gone too.

The blonde dusted his hand on his pants. "That went better than I expected."

.

"Get the connection back on now!"

"The storm's getting worse, Kaelie. It's interfering with our radio frequency."

The blonde huffed as she scrambled one hand over the keyboard, calling into the radio piece in her ear. The rain pelted down on the world below, and the sky was darkening every second.

"I've still got control of the screens," Vandal reassured her. "We've still got a strong connection, and they haven't noticed anything on their end."

"Let's keep it that way," Kaelie replied steely. "Try and recover communications with him, Vandal. Alya, what's the situation?"

"I had to momentarily crash their screen on their end," the pixie-haired girl said. "Morgenstern's gotten into a scuffle with them, and I've resumed the camera visuals on their end. I'm not sure what to do about the missing footage – on their end, they'll see two guys perfectly fine one second, and then K.O-ed the next. What should I do?"

Kaelie took a moment to process her thoughts and gathered her emotions together. She would remain calm. She would not show her distress. "Did they show any reaction to the disconnection at all?"

Alya shook her head. "Nada. They just tapped the monitors and waited for it to reboot."

"You'd think they'd be a little more onto it for such a volatile gang, wouldn't ya?" Vandal observed. "The boys on shift now just seem… lazy."

"Let's pray it stays that way until he gets out," Kaelie huffed. "Do what you can to rewrite and doctor the footage. I want no evidence of him being there."

"But what about brute duo passed o—"

"That's his mess to deal with," the blonde answered curtly. "We're just here to minimize the repercussions and see it through." Kaelie tried to get through to the Morgenstern and was met with static, with a few breaks in the interference coming from the storm. All the while her aids continued to do their jobs, building up tension in the air as they waited for the line to revive. _This is not what I signed up for_, Kaelie thought in a pissed-off tone._ This was supposed to be an easy extraction. It shouldn't take this long. I was supposed to work with the Seelie Queen and only her. Not some other protégée she adopted in her ranks. I should be with them, not working like some backstage crew member for another._

They watched Jonathan swagger past the groups that were lagging about, blending in by smirking at a trio walking in the opposite direction, and swinging girls around who blocked the entrances. No one seemed to notice him; he was a phantom to them, his movements unnoticeable. It was more that they accepted him without question, not arguing about whether or not they'd seen his face around.

The blonde sucked her cheeks in hollowly as the link crackled. "Morgenstern? Can you hear me now?"

"_I was wondering where you lot got to_."

Kaelie breathed deeply and let out a grateful sigh. Vandal snickered and Alya merely flicked her hair back while she leaned back on her seat. "Thank god. I was worried we wouldn't get you back."

"_You know nothing about me, darling_," the silver-blonde drawled, heading back down the hallway. "_But be a little onto it next time, will you? I like to get a little heads up when guests are coming my way_."

"We tried, but the storm was inte—"

"_Save it. I know. I just don't care_." The blonde looked up at the camera in the corner of the corridor he originally emerged from and snickered into her earpiece. "_Erase all the data. Destroy any digital evidence_."

"What about the two you fought with?" Kaelie asked, more out of concern for her own well being than for Jonathan's. After all, whatever failures came out of this would be on her head, and hers alone.

"_Midazolam, missy_," he said, pushing through the door he first came from. She heard scuffling as he shuffled for his gears in the room. "_Thank god – he's gone. Midazolam's harmless enough with the right amount injected, but it has a few side effects which include, but are not limited to: vomiting, dizziness, and memory loss. Those boys will be like hapless drunks when they come to, and by the time they're fully awake, we will have emerged victorious without a single person remembering our name_."

She heard the sliding of the window and rain blasting heavily on his end. Vandal whistled as Alya switched one of her monitors to the surrounding outside camera's in the vicinity. They watched a black-clad blur shimmy out onto the ledge and slide down the pipes, trading slippery plastic tubes for flooding pavements outside the building. He hurried along in the blur of the rain as it poured viciously onto the road, covering the road marks and dimming the brightness of the streetlamps. He had a black bag that bumped on his back with every movement as he ran down the road. A car came racing down the road that slowed down just enough for him to wrench the door open and run in for cover from the downpour, before speeding off down a side street and back out to the main road.

Vandal breathed easily as he watched them disappear off-screen. "He did it. He fucking did it."

Alya clapped her hands and clasped them behind her back, grinning wryly at the other guy. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Start packing up now," the blonde ordered, shutting down all programs on her desktop. She inserted a USB port loaded with a virus and ripped the headphone off, along with earpiece in her ear. "Purge all data of today's events from these devices. I don't want anything tracing back to us, you hear?"

"Loud and clear."

While her assistants began rapidly moving to tidy up, Kaelie started packing away the radio frequency devices in their proper cases and loaded it up inside a fancy carrier bag the color of peppermint with gold buckles on the side and similar zippers. Today had been a small victory for both groups, and that would not go uncelebrated. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Kaelie would trade sloppy second-hand hotel rooms for fancy dining halls with modern aesthetics and fashionable crowds, while her team went back to sitting courtside at fashion shows for Glamour and doing what they did best for runway elegance.

Kaelie felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled out her phone to see the new message sitting prettily on her homescreen.

_Meeting with Meliorn – Thanhausser exhibition sector, Guggenheim at 8p.m. I kept my half of the bargain, now it's your turn._

_J.M._

* * *

.

"How was that?"

Clary strutted down the hallway as Lily escorted her back down to the foyer. After three hours of painstakingly getting the basics done, she'd finally began to see some semblance of what she wanted to bring to life and what he represented. The dead silence between them had been a little more than awkward, but those intervals were broken up by the orders he barked every time someone came in to ask for his opinion.

"Invigorating, to say the least," she replied honestly. A few other strangers came into the room to have a gaze at her work, and while some felt pressured by it, Raphael felt relaxed with them around. Or at least, he remained completely immobile while they tried to make him laugh. "He didn't seem too affected by the distractions going on, and he was perfectly still the whole time. I've had models who've never been that good while posing."

"He was probably holding all the sarcastic insults he was dying to use," Lily answered. She cracked a smile "He's made from stone. It's why he shows no feeling other than raw boredom and obtuse pessimism."

The redhead didn't know whether to laugh or frown. Lily had a more sarcastic humor than she was used to from others. Besides, wouldn't you want to keep those kinds of comments under wraps from listening ears? "You two must get along like matches and dynamite if you can mock him out in the open," Clary said warily.

The Asian woman shrugged. "Freedom of speech here. You can say whatever bull you want – just be prepared for a fight if anything happens. Besides, the guy relies on me. I get to loudmouth all I want and he can't do anything."

"Ahh, sassy and a rebel. Me likey." Clary smirked and arranged all her things in her bag. The weather was still as joyful as ever, with the miserable sky laughing at her and storm drains in danger of overflowing. She tugged the hideous raincoat on and picked up her phone from Lily. "So the next appointment is…?"

"Tomorrow morning," the taller woman replied. "Be aware that it could get noisy around here. We get a lot of visitors coming in and out."

"Right-o." Clary clapped her hands together and waved awkwardly. "Thank you for the escort, and I'll be back tomorrow then."

Lily watched as the redhead danced out through the open door and nodded to her man who closed it off. As soon as she'd disappeared, Lily strode to Raphael's study, ignoring his presence and diving straight into the liquor cabinet. The Spanish man sat on his window seat with such a morbid air about him.

"Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be you for a few hours?" She groaned, pouring a helpful dose of whiskey into a tall glass and slumping down into an armchair with her heels kicked up over the armrest. "There's a reason why I pushed for you to be Head and not me."

"You should appreciate all the hard work I go through to keep you guys in line."

The woman snorted and pointed a finger in his direction while she tossed the drink down the hatch. Fire burned and settled in the pit of her stomach, a familiar sensation accustomed to one-night stands and stressful mornings. "I get that you're a perfectionist, Raph, but there are just a few things you really shouldn't give toss about. I mean, c'mon – rotations for clean up crew down in the dungeons twice a day? That's borderline OCD."

"Cleanliness is next to godliness." The man preached, sitting up and rising to his height. "I don't want to intimidate those who come in for re-education with the mess leftover."

Lily rolled her eyes at his sermon. "Great – a sermon from Pastor Santiago." Lily refilled her glass and held the bottle innocently towards Raphael. "Care for a glass? Or are you gonna make me kneel in the corner and say 'hail mary' three times over for entertaining such a thought?"

Raphael rolled his eyes at her teasing manner, leaving the woman in a fit of giggles. It was fun watching him squirm. Thoughts turned to more serious matters and she propped the bottle on the coffee table in front of her. The remains of the redhead's workstation had been moved into the corner, with her canvas facing towards the wall for company. Her art gear hung off the back of the stand.

"Why her?" Lily watched him raise an eyebrow. "The redhead. She's too demure, too flighty."

"You don't like her?"

"She's tolerable and amusing," the woman amended half-heartedly. "I don't mind holding a conversation with her, but I wouldn't lose any sleep if she never came back here again."

Raphael pursed his lips and breathed in deeply. His chest swelled with the action and all she could see were muscles stretched tightly beneath sinew and wool. To keep a role of power you had to have presence, demanding and regal in every way. Lily couldn't help but compare the two Heads; Camille had been courtly and dangerous; Raphael was street savvy. Camille came from old money and old families; Raphael was a catholic boy from the broken streets of Harlem. The previous slender blonde favored fashion-forward brokers and exchanged plenty of blood money, and while Raphael preferred more violent methods, he wasn't above killing in cold blood or breaking the law for that matter.

Raphael's olive tone was pale in the light, but his eyes were darker and more brilliant against the white of his eyes. "That redhead is talented," he answered bluntly. "She impressed me with her work that night, and so far she hasn't disappointed me – yet. I like her style of media and the way she interprets things. If that doesn't satisfy you, then who cares?'

The slender punk-goth woman bit the tip of her tongue. There were plenty of things behind that practiced speech of his that were left unsaid, things that ticked away and buzzed around her brain. His tone seemed final, but something else simmered beneath his voice.

Coy fell upon her and took her whole while Lily stared cheekily at him. "Do you know something I don't? Is there a skeleton in the closet that you're hiding from me?" She stood up and sauntered towards him with a teasing glow in her eyes. "No. No, no, no." Raphael moved away out of her reach and continued walking, heading back to his office. Lily like watching him revert back to a pushy, mood, teenaged boy. It made the sadist inside giggle and laugh at the sudden change in persona. "I don't care how many years you've worked here, you don't get to know."

"Oh, c'mon Raphael," Lily pleaded. "I'm the closest thing to a best friend."

"Wrong. I already have someone I tolerate on a higher level than you."

"Ah, yes – that 'philosopher' pen-pal you email methodically day and night." Lily mocked. She leaned against the doorframe to his office and snickered whilst admiring her nails. Raphael was being rather resilient to her charms, and she was dying to know what secrets he was hiding about the redhead. The bloodier they were, the more she might come to like the Disney castaway. Innocence had never been an attractive trait for her. Too fake for her liking. A good person's past makes people curious. But if they're a bad person, then it makes you hungry for more.

Raphael went over to his desk and settled in the huge high-back velvet swing chair behind the polished wood. "If you really want to know more about her, do some personal homework. New York's not as big as you think it is."

.

* * *

.

Thank god her brother had the decency to herald a taxi for her. The traditional yellow car with checkered stripes along the sides pulled up seconds after the door shut behind her, and now she was driving away from the Hotel with tension in her shoulders. Did everything go as planned? Did they succeed? Was she still safe from the scrutiny of their eyes?

Could she remain in her fantasy world a little while longer?

Questions, questions, questions. There were so many things to ask, and so little information to glean her answers from.

"Sorry about soaking the upholstery in your car," Clary apologized.

The woman dressed up in the uniform chortled and waved one hand off the steering wheel "'S no problem," she answered in a thick accent typical of all New Jersey natives. Her dark skin seemed darker in this lighting, but a healthy shade reminiscent of crushed coffee beans before they were brewed. "I was just a surprised to hear someone needed a ride out here – especially in this torrent weather."

Clary smiled nervously.

Just one word could mean the difference between peace and paranoia.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

In mere seconds Clary had the phone in her hands, her fingers hovering over the screen. She tapped and slid the lock bar across and answered the awaited call. Her voice hesitated.

"Clarissa."

Her words were caught up in her throat.

"Sis? You there?"

Muscles tightened.

"A-are we g-good?" Her voice was fearful, placid, betraying her nerves to the ears of her brother. Clary clenched a fist tightly while she waited for him to condemn the outcome of her future.

"_You're in the clear_."

Her body automatically began to convert her nervous energy into hype. Triumph, victorious, happiness – she felt so much in that split second. She wanted to jump and scream, and yell out to the world; nothing could dampen her joy now that she had one less thing to worry about. Forget thunder and rain – the weather was inconsequential to her mood. Clary held the phone away from her long enough to let out a string of thanks to God, Jesus, Bhudda, and every other deity in her brain.

"_Before you start partying, sis, we've got to see the deal through. We're meeting at the Thanhausser exhibition sector at the Guggenheim, 8p.m sharp_."

Clary frowned at the mention of the meeting place. "You want to meet up at the Guggenheim?" The driver was so immersed in diverting her attention between the road and the radio blasting aloud. Clary hissed the rest of her inquiry. "You realize what we're carrying right?"

"_Well after today, I thought you might appreciate a little artistic inspiration, seeing as you're continuing your work with Raphael. Besides, what the mundanes' don't see won't hurt them."_

The redhead rolled her eyes. "I'll let that last comment slide," she huffed. "By 'we', I assume you're taking on the majestic plural, or are we both expected to show up at this?"

"_It would be better to show a united front against the Fae Court champion_."

Clary looked at the dashboard at the time displayed on the digital clock. It was just hitting back on 4:36 as of now, just at the start of peat rush-hour traffic. "Jonathan, contrary to what you believe, I'll barely have enough time to get to where you are. You know it's close to rush hour, and this is New York we live in. My work may not seem all that interesting or action-packed as yours was, but let me tell you that it's a tiresome and energy-sapping job for me to do. Can't you do it for both our sakes?" Clary sat up and let her voice dwindle into a more feminine tone. "I bet dad would be really happy to hear his favorite son has something from his wishlist."

Laughter rang in her ears. "_Is this your attempt at brown-nosing, little sister_?"

"Only if it's working."

Jonathan sighed on his end, and took a moment to deliberate his answer. He purposely made her wait in anticipation before answering her. "I suppose I can let you off for the day, considering you're probably stiff from doing practically nothing for the last few hours."

"Thank you!" She gushed. She wriggled happily in her seat. "Thank you. Not just for that. Thank you for keeping things on the down low at the hotel, and for calling up the cab for me."

She could feel the smugness through the phone-line. Clary could just imagine her brother's pompous, smug grin while he reaffirmed his playboy status in whatever club, bar, or opium den was open at this time of day. "_Does this mean that you've finally warmed up to me, little sister?_"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, Jonathan," she replied airily. "You've still got a long way to go before I'm happy enough to be anywhere near you and father… but I'll admit that you're better company than you were before."

"_That makes me glad, Clarissa_."

Her stomach went fuzzy with butterfly wings brushing against the walls. He sounded young, sincere; more like a real big brother than he had been in weeks. Clary eased the phone away from her ear and ended the call.

Peace. For one night, she could have some peace of mind, relax without looking over her shoulder. For once, she was not at the beck and call of her father nor her brother.

With excitement running through her veins, the redhead decided to do something impulsive. Her brain ticked off as she scoured through her calendar on her student page at the college. She had an early art assignment that had just been posted for all the third-years, and while she fervently followed the traditions of all procrastinators in the world, she wanted to get started on some of it now while she had a head start.

As she started announcing new directions to the taxi driver, a text came in on her phone, heralded by a photo of Jace pouting his lips mockingly from their dinner. Her heart was set aflame by the picture, by the simple realisation that he was real, and he was hers. She swiped pass the lock screen and went straight to the inbox.

**_Am I being needy if I say that I wanted to see you after work this evening?_**

A volcanic eruption burst inside her chest, and all Clary could think about was how awesome her night would be. An idea popped into her head and she quickly sent off her reply to her boyfriend, including where he should go afterwards.

"You seem mighty jolly back there, miss," the driver said over the news. "What'd you do, win the lottery or somethin'?"

The green-eyed woman smiled and tucked her phone back in her pocket. "Just a major run of good luck today."

The woman turned the corner as she entered the main traffic jams and smirked. "Well, you're gonna need it. With all this hullabaloo going on the world, y'all need somethin' to keep us lookin' at the bright side of life."


End file.
